Second Officer Wanda Holly waited at dockside. Men in bright blue uniforms stood protectively before the gangplank. Their shoulder patches and cap tallies read Terran Mission. Ran nodded at them in approval. One of the guards saluted, though they couldn’t have the least awareness of who the man in the dirty uniform was.
“You’re the last, except for a few of the Cold Crew,” Wanda said crisply as she swung into step with Ran. “Did you have a pleasant time last night?”
Ran looked at her. “I went,” he said without emotion, “to arrange for the embassy to send guards. The embassy did do that, and we’re able to leave Nevasa without a major problem. So yes, Wanda. Success in a difficult mission is always pleasant.”
“Glad you made it back,” she said. She turned and walked away at the top of the ramp.
Ran headed for his room and a change of uniform. He was whistling absently.
When he thought about the tune, he realized it was the old ballad, Clerk Colville.
IN TRANSIT:
NEVASA TO BISCAY
Tables in the Dining Room were set for groupings of two, four, and six. It seemed natural enough, when places were adjusted after the exodus and influx of passengers on Nevasa, for Reed, Da Silva, and the Dewhursts to share one of the larger tables with Wade and Belgeddes.
The huge room was illuminated by surface emission from ceiling coffers and the tall vertical columns separating panels of mythological bas reliefs. The lights had been dimmed when serving robots brought out the dessert, Glace Empress, flickering with blue brandy flames. Now sated diners were beginning to leave, and the walls brightened to accommodate them.
The grand staircase from Deck B, down which the splendid made their entrances, was a less romantic feature as folk climbed it again at the close of the meal. Most people chose to leave by the side doors onto Deck A.
Wade looked at the panel beside him, a scene of Roman fishermen with nets and rakes gathering in the riches of a sea packed with life. The stone was a bluish marble gilded to pick out details of the figures. Men, sea creatures, and the choppy waves were executed in realistic style, but none of the people seemed aware of the fish-tailed Tritons and Nereids sporting among them.
“Reminds one of sponge space, doesn’t it?” Wade said, gesturing toward the relief with his coffee cup. “Where what you see generally isn’t anywhere near you.”
“But we’re in sponge space now, aren’t we, Mr. Wade?” said Ms. Dewhurst, a slightly shorter, slightly more rounded version of her husband. She wore a choker of diamonds and pearls, the latter with a mauve iridescence that marked them as coming from Tellichery.
“What he means, Esther,” Dewhurst said, “is when you’re out on the hull of the ship in sponge space, not inside the envelope like we are.”
“You’ve been outside the ship, Mr. Wade?” Ms. Dewhurst asked in amazement.
A human steward began to clear the table, handing items into the open maw of the robot which trailed behind him. Flatware and dishes with remnants of the ice vanished without so much as a clink to mark their passing.
“Wade’s been everywhere, didn’t you know?” Reed muttered.
“Ah, lots of people have traveled,” said Belgeddes. “Dickie’s done things wherever he was. Just one of those lucky fellows that things happen to, you know.”
“Oh, yes, back in the old days—long, long before you were born, Mistress Dewhurst,” Wade said. Ms. Dewhurst beamed, an expression that made her broad face unexpectedly attractive. “We used to go out with the Cold Crews and throw targets for each other to shoot at.”
“That’s impossible!” Dewhurst said.
“Well . . .” said Reed through a grimace, “I do recall old-timers on Ain talking about that sort of thing. It was something they’d heard of, not done, though. That must have been in the really early days of star travel, though.”
“There’s ships and ships, you know,” Belgeddes commented. “You mustn’t think that the standards of Trident Starlines are quite the same as what you’ll find on some of the tramps Dickie and I knocked around on in our salad days.”