At this hour the captain felt its lightheartedness was no mockery. Since the tremendous news of quantum-level intelligence broke, moods had soared. Mostly.
His glance went down the table. No garb quite matched the formality of his blue dress uniform, but everybody was in good clothes. On his right, Ruszek chatted with Mokoena and with Zeyd beside her — not exactly cheerfully, yet it was more than the mate had done for a number of daycycles. On his left Yu and Sundaram glowed in their mild way. He wished Dayan, beyond them, were at his side; she had thrown off her own depression and talked enthusiastically whenever she got an opening, about the research and everything else that came to mind.
Maybe she and Ruszek would repair their relationship, maybe not. Nansen didn’t know just what had gone amiss, and recoiled from prying. What mattered immediately was that she was herself again, and Ruszek in the course of becoming himself. Though he kept stealing looks at her. . . .
Empty chairs. He had ordered Kilbirnie’s put in storage. “Where is Mr. Brent?” he asked. “Does anybody know?”
“He told me he had something to show us,” Yu said. “He must be preparing it. I am sure he will come in a few minutes.”
“And Dr. Cleland called me with word he is indisposed and will stay in his cabin. A shame.” But we are better off without his gloomy presence, confessed that which Nansen kept imprisoned, rebellion against having to be always the captain.
“Too bad.” Ruszek reached for a bottle. “Let’s pour.”
Nansen offered him a smile. “Impatient?”
“Thirsty, damn it.” The mate filled his goblet, drank barbarically deep, but then spoke across the table in civilized style. “Any more wonderful discoveries today, Ajit?”
“No, unless they lie somewhere in the flood of input,” Sundaram replied. “We have been composing our own next messages. Communication is — a two-way street, do the Americans say? But it isn’t easy.”
“Describing our kind of life, matter life,” Mokoena added. She nodded to her right. “We are going to need you, Selim, very much.”
“And I, poor lorn physicist, struggling to see how any of this can possibly be.” Dayan was joking; blood beat high under the fair skin.
“You will,” Nansen called low.
“Drink to that.” Ruszek raised his goblet. Others moved to charge theirs.
Zeyd, who had acute hearing, turned his face toward the entrance. “Footsteps,” he said. “Al is here.” He laughed. “Excellent. I am starved. Bring in the soup.”
The second engineer trod quickstep into sight. He carried an object somewhat like a small, clumsy rifle. And — Nansen stared, narrowed his eyes — was that a pistol at his hip?
From the passageway, Brent pointed the device. It buzzed. The door, which was the single exit from the wardroom, galley, and sanitor complex, drew shut.
Nansen sprang to his feet. “Open!” he shouted. Already he knew it would not, and the manual control was frozen.
Ruszek bellowed. His chair clattered to the deck behind him. He plunged, shoulder foremost. Impact thudded. He lurched back, pale, and sagged to the deck.
“That was unwise,” Nansen said flatly. “You only gave yourself a bruise, if not a dislocation. Dr. Mokoena, see to him. Hold back, everyone else. Quiet, quiet. Stand by till we know what is happening.”
CHAPTER 39
In helmet, gauntlets, and apron, Brent stepped to the wardroom door. He aimed a large ion torch. Flame hissed out, blue-white. Cleland kept his eyes away from the actinic glare. Brent played the fire along first the right edge, then the left. Sparks showered. Metal glowed, sagged, coursed in thick rivulets, and congealed. “There,” he said after a few minutes. “No matter how they may gimmick the lock, they aren’t going anywhere without leave.”
He narrowed the jet. Lightning-sharp, it cut straight through. He drew a rectangle, about ninety centimeters wide by fifteen high, some 180 centimeters off the deck. When it was almost finished, he reached with an insulated glove, caught a slumping edge, and tugged it toward him. Thus the piece clattered down on his side.
Setting the torch aside and shedding his protection, he moved closer. The rim of the hole was still hot but not molten. “All right,” he said. “You can come talk. Just don’t touch anything till it cools.” He had told the captives over the intercom what he meant to do.