The COMPLEAT Collected SFF Works, page 358
His last job before leaving for control was to stick name and number patches to the cabin door-sheets and draw up a list of who was where.
It was quiet in the control room, and the expressions on the faces of its occupants made it plain that they wanted it to stay that way. Mercer nodded to Neilson and the Captain—the only two who bothered to look at him—and floated into his couch. He clipped his list to the back of his left forearm and began printing the passengers' names on self-adhesive cards, which he placed beside the numbered lights on his call board. By the time he had finished the vision pick-up showed the passenger compartment in darkness, and his fellow officers were showing signs of breaking their vow of silence.
Beside each numbered call light was a switch which energized the cabin microphones without, of course, acquainting the occupant of the fact. He brought in the Mathewson cabin first, listened briefly to heavy, adult breathing which was too irregular for its owner to be asleep and a childish whisper which was saying "... And God bless Mum and Dad and make him the same every day ..."
Quickly he flipped off the switch, realizing that Bobby had revealed an awful lot about the Mathewsons in a very few seconds. At least on the ship they would not be troubled by a man who was a different person practically every day of the week.
The other switches brought in the sound of peaceful breathing, and one the silence of an empty cabin. He checked the pickups in the heads, which were also empty, and with visions of a passenger lost in the dark and blundering through fragile cabin walls and waking everyone, he began thumbing the switches, systematically searching for an incipient disturbance.
He did not find it. Instead he brought in a whispered conversation from a supposedly single cabin, which he switched off hurriedly as it was reaching an interesting stage.
"Spoilsport," said MacArdle.
"Sorry," said Mercer. He laughed, ridiculously pleased that someone had at last decided to speak to him.
"There is no necessity for you to remain on duty, Mercer," said the Captain. "Your handling of the passengers has been very good and your own behavior excellent, so far. Why don't you get some extra sleep in your cabin while you have the chance—you have a duplicate board there and the call buzzer is loud enough to wake you should a passenger need attention."
They don't want me around, thought Mercer angrily. Unlike Prescott, the Captain was being polite—even complimentary—in his dismissal, but it was plain that Mercer was not one of the team and that they did not want him hanging around. But all at once Mercer did not want to be sent to bed like a small boy. He was going to be hanging around for the next four months, at least, and the sooner they got used to the idea the better. Besides, the Captain had not actually ordered him below.
He smiled and said, "Thank you, sir. It has been rather hectic down there, but there are times when I find my own company a strain as well. So if you don't mind, sir, I would like to stay for a while and enjoy the atmosphere of sanity and peace."
They did not even look at him, and the silence lengthened, until finally Neilson said drily, "It isn't peace. Mercer—more like a temporary cease-fire."
Prescott stirred on his couch, but it was the Captain who spoke. He sounded polite and friendly and a little absentminded, as if an argumentative medic was only one of his problems:
"It is possible that you will grow exceedingly tired of the control room and the people who inhabit it in the months to come, Mercer," he said. "But you are welcome to stay here, of course, even if there is nothing for you to do. Unless you would like to spend some of the time telling me what you have planned for tomorrow? At one stage, after the cabin construction period, you were apparently organizing card games. Why?"
"Yes, sir," said Mercer. "Two of the passengers seemed to be worried by the survival film, and I changed the subject by telling them that weightless swimming was available to everyone once the ship was in cruising mode. I mentioned cards as being a fair way of deciding who would be the first two people into the pool with me. I'm afraid two at a time is as many as I can handle until I've had a little more experience myself."
"And the survival drill?"
"In the circumstances I thought of delaying them for a few days," said Mercer. "Passenger nervousness can be catching, and my instructor told me that quite a lot of latitude is allowed in the timing of these drills, and that the partial dismantling of cabin walls can be irksome if the passengers are not already a little bored and willing to play a new, if somewhat inconvenient, game.
"Or," Mercer went on, "I could take small groups of less nervous passengers and give them survival instruction until most of them were proficient. That way, the first full-scale drill would not be the shambles that the book says it usually is."
He stopped because the Captain was shaking his head.
"I'm sorry. Mercer," he said firmly, "but I don't agree with that part of the book. I think that I can trust you to carry out the exercise without creating too much alarm among the passengers. The regulations state that survival instruction be given to all passengers as soon as possible after takeoff, and so far as I am concerned, 'as soon as possible' means just that."
Mercer nodded. Obviously Collingwood's conception of the space-going priorities differed from those of the ground-bound, PR-minded type who produced the copy for Mercer's manual.
"Later in the voyage," the Captain went on, "you may stage as many therapeutic survival drills as you think fit, but the passengers must be made aware of the survival procedures at the beginning, not close to the end, of the trip—"
"Eurydice ground control. Do you read?"
The Captain glanced at the speaker grill above his head and said, "Eurydice. Go ahead."
"Your signal of 1476 this day querying pulsing and apparent temporary misalignment of your C-Sixes during initial insertion. We have looked at this and can see no cause for concern, especially as your instrumentation gives no indication of malfunction. We don't see that you have a problem, Eurydice."
"We don't have a problem," replied the Captain with just a hint of irritation in his tone, "but we would like an explanation for that few minutes of uneven thrust and we think the answer lies in area C. We will be using the nuclear propulsion system for standby heating only so we are not, repeat, not worried, but—"
"Prescott would like an explanation, I understand."
Reception was too good for there to be any mistaking of the tone, which made it all too plain that ground control knew Prescott of old and considered him to be something of a fusspot. The Captain, Neilson and MacArdle were carefully not looking at the First Officer while they tried to hide their embarrassment. Prescott himself did not appear to be embarrassed or even uncomfortable, and Mercer wondered if he was so sure his point of view was right that it just did not matter what his fellow officers thought of him.
"You already know, of course, that your C-Sixes are sealed units which are very thoroughly tested before assembly. If one of yours is sick, the only way we can check on it is by turning up the maker's worksheets and inspection paperwork. We will get on to that at once, and come back to you. Is there anything else not bothering you, gentlemen?"
"Nothing else," said the Captain. "Eurydice out."
The silence lengthened, magnifying the tiny sounds made by the life-support and power systems, until Prescott cleared his throat. When he spoke his voice sounded firm and reasonable—perhaps, thought Mercer, this was the nearest that the First Officer could come to apologizing.
He said, "Friend Neilson did not do a complete check of area C for the reasons he has already given—acceptable reasons, to most First Officers. And even if he had carried out the full inspection program, there is still no certainty that the fault—if there is a fault—would have shown up. The chances are that it would not show now even if it is there. But I would still like to have a look—"
"You will stay here, Bob," said the Captain sharply, "while Neilson and I have a look. We'll suit up and go through the passenger section and tank an hour before they are due to waken, so as to avoid worrying them with the sight of two officers in spacesuits. Once I discover the explanation for our initial bumpy ride we shall not discuss it, or even mention it, for the rest of the trip."
This time even Prescott was showing signs of embarrassment, and Mercer was suddenly sorry for him. As a doctor he disliked seeing anyone suffer.
"And Mercer," the Captain went on, "if I tell you too often, or with too much emphasis, not to worry about the things you have just heard, you will probably worry even harder. Let me just say that the problems you will have to face with your passengers will be very much worse than anything that is likely to crop up here. MacArdle, keep an eye and an ear on his panel. You're relieved, Mercer. Good-night."
As he was returning to his cabin. Mercer felt sorry that he had not left sooner. He had thought that they had been trying to exclude him because he was an outsider, a non-member of their very exclusive club, while the truth was that they had an aversion to the presence of a stranger at a family fight.
Chapter Seven
MERCER was still half asleep in his couch and squeezing food out of an envelope when he heard the outer hatch open, followed by a polite knock on the inner seal. A few seconds later it opened and Prescott floated in.
"Finish your breakfast and don't get up," he said. "I take it that you will hold the first survival drill as soon as the passengers have eaten and tidied up?"
Mercer nodded.
"Good. But I would like to make a suggestion, or if the polite phraseology gives you the idea that you have some choice in the matter, consider it an order. Demonstrating how to climb into a collapsed life-capsule with three passengers at a time is warm work, so wear your shorts and check on the position of the cabinet containing the bathing gear. You will enjoy a soak afterwards, as well as getting in some practice in weightless swimming before taking on your first two passengers."
"How do I explain wearing swimming shorts at breakfast time?"
"Your problem," said Prescott drily. "Who knows, some of them may enjoy the sight of a splendid, half naked male animal."
"This male animal runs heavily to skin and bone ..." began Mercer. But Prescott was already closing the seal behind him.
By the time the passenger breakfast debris had been cleared away his rig had raised a few eyebrows but no comment, and when he reached the stage of rolling up the plastic walls and running the new film, Mercer had forgotten it himself. Prescott ran the film twice—MacArdle being off duty—so that everyone would know how to enter a collapsed life pod, how to do so quickly, and how to help in any late arrivers, or passengers who had not quite got the idea, with the minimum of wasted time and effort. Then Mercer went over the same ground with a slightly different emphasis.
He began briskly: "We are having this drill today, and will probably have another one tomorrow, because we must give at least three survival-instruction sessions as soon as possible after takeoff. That is the only reason. I apologize for the inconvenience it may cause some of you, but it does have its compensations."
He nodded toward the camera pickup, and in control Prescott operated the survival hatch actuators. The covers sprang open, and Mercer went on: "The pods are positioned at equal intervals around the waist of this compartment, and if you simply head for the nearest one there should be no problem. As you saw in the film, the first passenger to enter simply jumps in. The inner seal opens inward and closes automatically when pod pressure begins to build up before release. There is a drop of about eight feet, but under half-G conditions this is no problem. Below your feet there is a plastic bag containing lightweight screens and other bits and pieces used for dividing the inflated pod. Below that is the service module and food store.
"When the first passenger enters the pod," Mercer continued, "he or she will drop until their feet touch the upper surface of the service module. In the uninflated mode the pod walls are folded and the convolutions project inward, so that there will not seem to be enough space for one, much less three people. But these folds are resilient, and the first man in simply presses himself backwards into them, then raises his hands to help the next passenger into the pod."
"The second passenger in does not jump," he went on, "but instead sits on the edge with his legs dangling inside and gripping the hatch coaming with both hands, ready to lower himself inside when the first passenger pulls on his legs. Once inside, the second passenger backs against the first and raises his or her hands to assist the third passenger in the same way so that the three of them fit neatly like a set of three stacked spoons." He cleared his throat. "To begin with, I would like to demonstrate the drill with two volunteers. Mr. Stone and Mrs. Mathewson, would you mind?"
They did not mind, and Mercer jumped in as Number One. Stone followed as Two and got in without any trouble, but he did not press backwards against Mercer firmly enough, so that Mrs. Mathewson found it a very tight squeeze. With much wriggling and elbowing, her feet finally touched the floor of the pod, and a murmur of applause went up from the watchers ringing the opening.
One of them asked seriously, "If there was a real emergency, how much time would we have?"
"You would probably have several hours to get ready," Mercer said, trying to keep the back of Stone's head out of his mouth, "but the drills are always carried out on the assumption that the ship must be cleared within a few minutes, otherwise nobody would ever take them seriously."
He heard a few of them laughing, then another leaned forward to ask, "Does the rule about women and children first still hold in space?"
"No," said Mercer. "The reason for that rule at sea was largely because of the shortage of lifeboats and the skilled manpower needed to launch them. We have more than enough pod space to accommodate all our passengers, and launching is automatic. And now, Mr. Stone, if you will help Mrs. Mathewson out again, we can all get back on deck. I'm beginning to feel like an overdue triplet down here."
That got another laugh, and there were no more questions about emergencies. He suggested to Stone and Mrs. Mathewson that they go in first with two other passengers each, all of whom would in turn instruct others until everyone had experience of at least one climb into a pod.
"Leave them to fend for themselves," said Prescott suddenly in his earpiece. "I'll keep an eye on them from here while you go aft. Neilson wants you in E-Three, that's the compartment on the other side of the tank. The Captain has a metal splinter in his arm, with complications. Grab your kit and take a look at him."
Mercer licked his lips and said, "Ladies and gentlemen, I'll have to leave you for a few minutes. Just carry on with the practice; you are doing fine."
He did not hurry toward his cabin while he was in sight of the passengers, but made up for lost time when he was not. Within a few minutes he was at the entrance to the tank. From a nearby cabinet he pulled out a mask, visor and air-tank and slipped them on, then stopped.
With an injured arm, the Captain would not want to put on his spacesuit again to come through the tank, so he would need swimming gear, too. And he had said yesterday that he did not want to risk worrying the passengers by letting them see Neilson and himself wearing spacesuits. It might be better to bring along two sets of gear ...
"Mercer, hurry it up!" snapped Prescott.
"Just leaving."
The tank lock was big enough to take three people at a pinch, he noted. In the tank itself he fumbled around until he found the light switch and was immediately blinded.
The tank was two-thirds full of the water, which the nuclear propulsion system used as reaction mass, and because the ship was in free fall, it had not remained in the lower end of the tank when thrust had ceased. Instead it had spread—to fill the whole tank with a glittering froth of bubbles, air pockets and irregular masses of water. It was impossible to see for more than a few yards into the stuff, and it would be very easy to lose orientation. For a few seconds Mercer considered swimming to the wall and pulling himself along the handgrips which projected from it, but that would take time. On the other hand, if he simply kicked hard against the bulkhead behind him and swam, he should reach the other end fairly quickly even if he did not know exactly where he was on the way. The tank was only sixty feet long.
As it happened the trip was far too short, giving him no chance to really appreciate the exquisite sensation of burrowing through clouds of bubbles and of being slapped and buffeted by air pockets and solid clumps of water. He almost forgot the Captain.
"How is it going, Mercer?" said Prescott.
"I'm cycling the aft tank lock now. Everything is fine. The water is nice and warm."
"It shouldn't be."
Mercer had no time to wonder about the warm water because the outer seal had opened and he was looking at his patient.
Both men had their helmets and back packs removed. Neilson was holding the Captain's shoulders, and Collingwood was gripping his right upper arm, where smears of blood were visible above and below his fingers. The complication Prescott had mentioned was that the splinter had entered the Captain's arm while he was outside, and he had suffered a fairly serious decompression—judging by the condition of his eyes and the evidence of bleeding from his nose and ears—before the engineer had pulled him back inside.
Mercer pushed the magnetic studs of his kit against the deck and flipped open the lid.
It rattled at him.
He pulled the radiation counter from its clip and swung around. "You're hot, for God's sake! Both of you. Get out of those suits!"
"Mercer, what's happening?"
Before trying to answer Prescott, Mercer took a few minutes to run over the men with his counter—without actually touching them or their suits. The thought of that invisible sleet of radiation going through his unprotected body was enough, without adding the danger of surface contamination. He wanted badly to dive back into the tank and put as much distance between the two poisonously hot officers and himself as the dimensions of the ship would allow.
