“Oh, very well,” he said reluctantly. “Here we go. Chapter One. Drury Lane. 1665 . . .”
The author certainly wasted no time. Within three pages, Sir Isaac Newton was explaining the law of gravitation to Mistress Gwyn, who had already hinted that she would like to do something in return. What form that appreciation would take, Pat Harris could readily guess, but duty called him. This entertainment was for the passengers; the crew had work to do.
“There’s still one emergency locker I’ve not opened,” said Miss Wilkins as the air-lock door thudded softly behind them, shutting off Mr. Barrett’s carefully clipped accents. “We’re low on crackers and jam, but the compressed meat is holding out.”
“I’m not surprised,” answered Pat. “Everyone seems to be getting sick of it. Let’s see those inventory sheets.”
The stewardess handed over the typed sheets, now much annotated with pencil marks.
“We’ll start with this box. What’s inside it?”
“Soap and paper towels.”
“Well, we can’t eat them. And this one?”
“Candy. I was saving it for the celebration–when they find us.”
“That’s a good idea, but I think you might break some of it out this evening. One piece for every passenger, as a nightcap. And this?”
“A thousand cigarettes.”
“Make sure that no one sees them. I wish you hadn’t told me.” Pat grinned wryly at Sue and passed on to the next item. It was fairly obvious that food was not going to be a major problem, but they had to keep track of it. He knew the ways of Administration; after they were rescued, sooner or later some human or electronic clerk would insist on a strict accounting of all the food that had been used.
_After they were rescued_. Did he really believe that this was going to happen? They had been lost for more than two days, and there had not been the slightest sign that anyone was looking for them. He was not sure what signs there could be, but he had expected some.
He stood brooding in silence, until Sue asked anxiously: “What’s the trouble, Pat? Is something wrong?”
“Oh, no,” he said sarcastically. “We’ll be docking at Base in five minutes. It’s been a pleasant trip, don’t you think?”
Sue stared at him incredulously; then a flush spread over her cheeks, and her eyes began to brim with tears.
“I’m sorry,” said Pat, instantly contrite. “I didn’t mean that. It’s been a big strain for us both, and you’ve been wonderful. I don’t know what we’d have done without you, Sue.”
She dabbed her nose with a handkerchief, gave a brief smile, and answered: “That’s all right; I understand.” They were both silent for a moment. Then she added: “Do you really think we’re going to get out of this?”
He gave a gesture of helplessness.
“Who can tell? Anyway, for the sake of the passengers, we’ve got to appear confident. We can be certain that the whole Moon’s looking for us. I can’t believe it will take much longer.”
“But even if they find us, how are they going to get us out?”
Pat’s eyes wandered to the external door, only a few centimeters away. He could touch it without moving from this spot; indeed, if he immobilized the safety interlock, he could open it, for it swung inward. On the other side of that thin metal sheet were unknown tons of dust that would come pouring in, like water into a sinking ship, if there was the slightest crack through which they could enter. How far above them was the surface? That was a problem that had worried him ever since they had gone under, but there seemed no way of finding out.
Nor could he answer Sue’s question. It was hard to think beyond the possibility of being found. If that happened, then surely rescue would follow. The human race would not let them die, once it had discovered them alive.
But this was wishful thinking, not logic. Hundreds of times in the past, men and women had been trapped as they were now, and all the resources of great nations had been unable to save them. There were the miners behind rockfalls, sailors in sunken submarines–and, above all, astronauts in ships on wild orbits, beyond possibility of interception. Often they had been able to talk freely with their friends and relatives until the very end. That had happened only two years ago, when _Cassiopeia’s_ main drive had jammed, and all her energies had been poured into hurling her away from the sun. She was out there now, heading toward Canopus, on one of the most precisely measured orbits of any space vehicle. The astronomers would be able to pinpoint her to within a few thousand kilometers for the next million years. That must have been a great consolation to her crew, now in a tomb more permanent than any Pharaoh’s.
Pat tore his mind away from this singularly profitless reverie. Their luck had not yet run out, and to anticipate disaster might be to invite it.
“Let’s hurry up and finish this inventory. I want to hear how Nell is making out with Sir Isaac.”
That was a much more pleasant train of thought, especially when you were standing so close to a very attractive and scantily dressed girl. In a situation like this, thought Pat, women had one great advantage over men. Sue still looked fairly smart, despite the fact that nothing much was left of her uniform in this tropical heat. But he, like all the men aboard _Selene_, felt scratchily uncomfortable with his three days’ growth of beard, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.
Sue did not seem to mind the stubble, though, when he abandoned the pretense of work and moved up so close that his bristles rubbed against her cheek. On the other hand, she did not show any enthusiasm. She merely stood there, in front of the half-empty locker, as if she had expected this and was not in the least surprised. It was a disconcerting reaction, and after a few seconds Pat drew away.
“I suppose you think I’m an unscrupulous wolf,” he said, “trying to take advantage of you like this.”
“Not particularly,” Sue answered. She gave a rather tired laugh. “It makes me glad to know that I’m not slipping. No girl ever minds a man _starting_ to make approaches. It’s when he won’t stop that she gets annoyed.”
“Do you want me to stop?”
“We’re not in love, Pat. To me, that’s rather important. Even now.”
“Would it still be important if you knew we won’t get out of this?”
Her forehead wrinkled in concentration.
“I’m not sure–but you said yourself we’ve got to assume that they’ll find us. If we don’t, then we might as well give up right away.”
“Sorry,” said Pat. “I don’t want you under those terms. I like you too much, for one thing.”
“I’m glad to hear that. You know I’ve always enjoyed working with you–there were plenty of other jobs I could have transferred to.”
“Bad luck for you,” Pat answered, “that you didn’t.” His brief gust of desire, triggered by proximity, solitude, scanty clothing, and sheer emotional strain, had already evaporated.
“Now you’re being pessimistic again,” said Sue. “You know, that’s your big trouble. You let things get you down. And you won’t assert yourself; anyone can push you around.”
Pat looked at her with more surprise than annoyance.
“I’d no idea,” he said, “that you’d been busy psyching me.”
“I haven’t. But if you’re interested in someone, and work with him, how can you help learning about him?”
“Well, I don’t believe that people push me around.”
“No? Who’s running this ship now?”
“If you mean the Commodore, that’s different. He’s a thousand times better qualified to take charge than I am. And he’s been absolutely correct about it–he’s asked my permission all along the line.”
“He doesn’t bother now. Anyway, that’s not the whole point. Aren’t you _glad_ he’s taken over?”
Pat thought about this for several seconds. Then he looked at Sue with grudging respect.
“Maybe you’re right. I’ve never cared to throw my weight about, or assert my authority–if I have any. I guess that’s why I’m driver of a Moon bus, not skipper of a space liner. It’s a little late to do anything about it now.”
“You’re not thirty yet.”
“Thank you for those kind words. I’m thirty-two. We Harrises retain our youthful good looks well into old age. It’s usually all we have left by then.”
“Thirty-two–and no steady girl friend?”
Ha! thought Pat, there are several things you don’t know about me. But there was no point in mentioning Clarissa and her little apartment in Copernicus City, which now seemed so far away. (And how upset is Clarissa right now? he wondered. Which of the boys is busy consoling her? Perhaps Sue is right, after all. I don’t have a _steady_ girl friend. I haven’t had one since Yvonne, and that was five years ago. No, my God– seven years ago.)