Grant felt in no condition to indulge in psychological analysis, and this seemed hardly the time for anything of the sort. Besides, he was still obsessed with the problem of his failure and the mystery of McNeil’s continued existence. McNeil, who knew this perfectly well, seemed in no hurry to satisfy his curiosity.
“Well, what do you intend to do now?” Grant asked, anxious to get it over.
“I would like,” said McNeil calmly, “to carry on our discussion where it was interrupted by the coffee.”
“You don’t mean-”
“But I do. Just as if nothing had happened.”
“That doesn’t make sense. You’ve got something up your sleeve!” cried Grant.
McNeil sighed. He put down the poison bottle and looked firmly at Grant.
“You’re in no position to accuse me of plotting anything. To repeat my earlier remarks, I am suggesting that we decide which one of us shall take poison-only we don’t want any more unilateral decisions. Also”-he picked up the bottle again-“it will be the real thing this time. The stuff in here merely leaves a bad taste in the mouth.”
A light was beginning to dawn in Grant’s mind. “You changed the poison!”
“Naturally. You may think you’re a good actor, Grant, but frankly-from the balcony-I thought the performance stank. I could tell you were plotting something, probably before you knew it yourself. In the last few days I’ve deloused the ship pretty thoroughly. Thinking of all the ways you might have done me in was quite amusing and helped to pass the time. The poison was so obvious that it was the first thing I fixed. But I rather overdid the danger signals and nearly gave myself away when I took the first sip. Salt doesn’t go at all well with coffee.”
He gave that wry grin again. “Also, I’d hoped for something more subtle. So far I’ve found fifteen infallible ways of murdering anyone aboard a spaceship. But I don’t propose to describe them now.”
This was fantastic, Grant thought. He was being treated, not like a criminal, but like a rather stupid schoolboy who hadn’t done his homework properly.
“Yet you’re still willing,” said Grant unbelievingly, “to start all over again? And you’d take the poison yourself if you lost?”
McNeil was silent for a long time. Then he began, slowly, “I can see that you still don’t believe me. It doesn’t fit at all nicely into your tidy little picture, does it? But perhaps I can make you understand. It’s really quite simple.
“I’ve enjoyed life, Grant, without many scruples or regrets-but the better part of it’s over now and I don’t cling to what’s left as desperately as you might imagine. Yet while I am alive I’m rather particular about some things.
“It may surprise you to know that I’ve got any ideals at all. But I have, Grant-I’ve always tried to act like a civilized, rational being. I’ve not always succeeded. When I’ve failed I’ve tried to redeem myself.”
He paused, and when he resumed it was as though be, and not Grant, was on the defensive. “I’ve never exactly Eked you, Grant, but I’ve often admired you and that’s why I’m sorry it’s come to, this. I admired you most of all the day the ship was holed.”
For the first time, McNeil seemed to have some difficulty in choosing his words. When he spoke again he avoided Grant’s eyes.
“I didn’t behave very well then. Something happened that I thought was impossible. I’ve always been quite sure that I’d never lose my nerve but-well-it was so sudden it knocked me over.”
He attempted to hide his embarrassment by humor. “The same sort of thing happened on my very first trip. I was sure I’d never be space sick-and as a result I was much worse than if I had not been overconfident. But I got over it then-and again this time. It
was one of the biggest surprises of my life, Grant, when I saw that you of all people were beginning to crack.
“Oh, yes-the business of the wines! I can see you’re thinking about that. Well, that’s one thing I don’t regret. I said I’d always tried to act like a civilized man-and a civilized man should always know when to get drunk. But perhaps you wouldn’t understand.”
Oddly enough, that was just what Grant was beginning to do. He had caught his first real glimpse of McNeil’s intricate and tortuous personality and realized how utterly he had misjudged him. No-misjudged was not the right word. In many ways his judgment had been correct. But it had only touched the surface-he had never suspected the depths that lay beneath.
I In a moment of insight that had never come before, and from the nature of things could never come again, Grant understood the reasons behind McNeil’s action. This was nothing so simple as a coward trying to reinstate himself in the eyes of the world, for no one need ever know what happened aboard the Star Queen.
In any case, McNeil probably cared nothing for the world’s opinion, thanks to the sleek self-sufficiency that had so often annoyed Grant. But that very self-sufficiency meant that at all costs he must preserve his own good opinion of himself. Without it life would not be worth living-and McNeil had never accepted life save on his own terms.
The engineer was watching him intently and must have guessed that Grant was coming near the truth, for he suddenly changed his tone as though he was sorry he had revealed so much of his character.
“Don’t think I get a quixotic pleasure from turning the other cheek,” he said. “Just consider it from the point of view of pure logic. After all, we’ve got to come to some agreement.
“Has it occurred to you that if only one of us survives without a covering message from the other, he’ll have a very uncomfortable time explaining just what happened?”
In his blind fury, Grant had completely forgotten this. But he did not believe it bulked at all important in McNeil’s own thoughts.
“Yes,” he said, “I suppose you’re right.”
He felt far better now. All the hate had drained out of him and he was at peace. The truth was known and he accepted it.
That it was so different from what he had imagined did not seem to matter now.
“Well, let’s get it over,” he said unemotionally. “There’s a new pack of cards lying around somewhere.”
“I think we’d better speak to Venus first-both of us,” replied McNeil, with peculiar emphasis. “We want a complete agreement on record in case anyone asks awkward questions later.”
Grant nodded absently. He did not mind very much now one way or the other. He even smiled, ten minutes later, as he drew his card from the pack and laid it, face upward, beside McNeil’s.
“So that’s the whole story, is it?” said the first mate, wondering how soon he could decently get to the transmitter.
“Yes,” said McNeil evenly, “that’s all there was to it.”
The mate bit his pencil, trying to frame the next question. “And I suppose Grant took it all quite calmly?”
The captain gave him a glare, which he avoided, and McNeil looked at him coldly as if he could see through to the sensation mongering headlines ranged behind. He got to his feet and moved over to the observation port.
“You heard his broadcast, didn’t you? Wasn’t that calm enough?”
The mate sighed. It still seemed hard to believe that in such circumstances two men could have behaved in so reasonable, so unemotional a manner. He could have pictured all sorts of dramatic possibilities-sudden outbursts of insanity, even attempts at murder. Yet according to McNeil nothing at all had happened. It was too bad.
McNeil was speaking again, as if to himself. “Yes, Grant behaved very well-very well indeed. It was a great pity-”
Then he seemed to lose himself in the ever-fresh, incomparable glory of the approaching planet. Not far beneath, and coming closer by kilometers every second, the snow-white crescent arms of Venus spanned more than half the sky. Down there were life and warmth and civilization-and air.
The future, which not long ago had seemed contracted to a point, had opened out again into all its unknown possibilities and wonders. But behind him McNeil could sense the eyes of his rescuers, probing, questioning-yes, and condemning too.
All his life he would hear whispers. Voices would be saying behind his back, “Isn’t that the man who-?”
He did not care. For once in his life at least, he had done something of which he could feel unashamed. Perhaps one day his own pitiless self-analysis would strip bare the motives behind his actions, would whisper in his ear. “Altruism? Don’t be a fool! You did it to bolster up your own good opinion of yourself-so much more important than anyone else’s!”
But the perverse maddening voices, which all his life had made nothing seem worthwhile, were silent for the moment and he felt content. He had reached the calm at the center of the hurricane, While it lasted he would enjoy it to the full.