“And others will,” she foresaw. Pause. “If it comes to a vote, will you be for leaving?”
“Yes.”
“And I will be for staying.” She drew close to him. “We mustn’t let this divide us.”
“You are too late,” he said. “The crew is already divided.” He took her hands. Tenderness welled up. “But we two, Mam, we will not let that happen, will we?”
In Ruszek’s cabin the same disagreement took another turn.
“If you hadn’t honeyed me into giving her the mission —” he grated. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but how could I have known?” Dayan cried.
They had left their scats and stood stare against stare in the middle of the room. Apart from the furnishings, it was well-nigh empty; he had few possessions. A vase of flowers she had brought was withering. With several drinks under his belt, blood flushed his cheeks, sweat sheened on the bare scalp, the mustache bristled.
“Sorry? Would you rather it was me dead?”
Her glance fled from his. “No, oh, no.”
“I can’t feel thankful to you. It was blind luck.”
“Of course.”
“Evil luck. For me also.”
“Then why are you angry?”
“The senselessness of it.”
“Your God —”
He ignored her essay at peace. “And the senselessness of hanging here. You know Nansen won’t let me fly. He’ll cancel the other manned explorations we planned. Mustn’t risk the last boat. But the pilot can sit and rot, after you get your way.”
“Please, Lajos, no.” She met his eyes afresh and spoke levelly. “We will find work for you, outside observations, interior refitting —”
“Sops, while you scientists have your fun and games. Sops. Or the damned stupid virtuals, no better. I spit them out!” he roared. “I say we go home before we lose more lives!”
“We won’t.”
“Do you know that? Are you a witch, to know that? And we will lose lives, years out of our lives, thrown away, waiting for what? Nothing worth the cost. I say go home.”
She braced herself, the red head high. “And I say stay.”
He lifted a fist. She stood where she was. His arm dropped. He snarled, turned on his heel, and stamped out.
She remained there a few minutes before seeking her private quarters.
At parade rest before his people in the common room, Nansen saw them seated apart, Sundaram, Yu, and Dayan on the right, Brent, Cleland, and Ruszek on the left. Mokoena and Zeyd were side by side in the middle, as if to bridge what lay between.
Talk had been ragged until Yu now said, “Jean Kilbirnie should not have died for nothing.”
“I am sorry,” Nansen told her, and meant it, “but that is out of order. We stipulated beforehand that there shall be no emotional declarations at this meeting.”
Brent leaned forward. “Then what is there to say?” he flung back. “Are you a man or a robot?”
“We cannot let certain things, such as hostility, go free,” Nansen replied to the assembly. “They feed on themselves. If discipline, morale, and common purpose deteriorate, the black hole may quite possibly kill us. The meeting will confine itself to rational arguments.”
“We’ve heard them,” Ruszek growled. “They were old before we left Tahir. What’s crazy is to keep going over them.”
“And the rational thing to do is consider our feelings,” Brent advanced. “Most of us can’t take much more. If we don’t leave soon, that’s what will destroy us as a crew.”
“No,” Zeyd put in. “I disagree. I prefer an early return. But regardless of what the decision is, we should have the brains and backbone to carry it through.”
“Or don’t you believe you have them, Al?” gibed Dayan.
Our half hour together seemed to calm her, Nansen thought. But something has her on edge again.
“That will do,” he reproved. “If the meeting cannot proceed in orderly fashion, I will adjourn it.”
“What was the point of calling it?” Brent demanded.
“To clarify our thinking.”
“W-we know where we stand.” Cleland’s voice firmed. “Captain, I call for a vote.”
“This is not a voting matter,” Nansen said.
“Please,” Sundaram ventured. “With respect, the articles of the expedition can be interpreted as meaning that after five years at the original destination, which are past, policy decisions will be made democratically.”