I looked puzzled and Uncle Steve went on, “You don’t savvy? Psychiatrist. Doc Dev is watching every move we make, trying to decide how quick he will have to be with the straitjacket and the needle. Correct, Doc?”
Dr. Devereaux buttered a roll. “Essentially, Major. But finish your meal; we’re not coming for you until later in the day.” He was a fat little toad, ugly as could be, and with a placid, unbreakable calm. He went on, “I just had an up setting thought, Major.”
“I thought that thoughts never upset you?”
“Consider. Here I am charged with keeping quaint characters like you sane … but they forgot to assign anybody to keep me sane. What should I do?”
“Mmm…” Uncle Steve seemed to study it. “I didn’t know that head-shrinkers were supposed to be sane, themselves.”
Dr. Devereaux nodded. “You’ve put your finger on it. As in your profession, Major, being crazy is an asset. Pass the salt, please.”
Uncle Steve shut up and pretended to wipe off blood.
A man came in and sat down; Uncle Steve introduced me and said, “Staff Commander Frick, the Communications Officer. Your boss, Tom.”
Commander Frick nodded and said, “Aren’t you third section, young man?”
“Uh, I don’t know, sir.”
“I do … and you should have known. Report to the communications office.”
“Uh, you mean now, sir?”
“Right away. You are a half hour late.”
I said, “Excuse me,” and got up in a hurry, feeling silly. I glanced at Uncle Steve but he wasn’t looking my way; he seemed not to have heard it.
The communications office was two decks up, right under the control room; I had trouble finding it. Van Houten was there and Mei-Ling and a man whose name was Travers, who was communicator-of-the-watch. Mei-Ling was reading a sheaf of papers and did not look up; I knew that she was telepathing. Van said, “Where the deuce have you been? I’m hungry.”
“I didn’t know,” I protested.
“You’re supposed to know.”
He left and I turned to Mr. Travers. “What do you want me to do?”
He was threading a roll of tape into an autotransmitter; he finished before he answered me. “Take that stack of traffic as she finishes it, and do whatever it is you do with it. Not that it matters.”
“You mean read it to my twin?”
“That’s what I said.”
“Do you want him to record?”
“Traffic is always recorded. Didn’t they teach you anything?”
I thought about explaining that they really hadn’t because there had not been time, when I thought, oh what’s the use? He probably thought I was Pat and assumed that I had had the full course. I picked up papers Mei-Ling was through with and sat down.
But Travers went on talking. “I don’t know what you freaks are up here for now anyhow. You’re not needed; we’re still in radio range.”
I put the papers down and stood up: “Don’t call us ‘freaks.’ “
He glanced at me and said, “my, how tall you’ve grown. Sit down and get to work.”
We were about the same height but he was ten years older and maybe thirty pounds heavier. I might have passed it by if we had been alone, but not with Mei-Ling present.
“I said not to call us ‘freaks.’ It’s not polite.”
He looked tired and not amused but he didn’t stand up. I decided he didn’t want a fight and felt relieved. “All right, all right,” he answered. “Don’t be so touchy. Get busy on that traffic.”
I sat down and looked over the stuff I had to send, then called Pat and told him to start his recorder; this was not a practice message.
He answered, “Call back in half an hour. I’m eating dinner.”
(“I was eating lunch but I didn’t get to finish. Quit stalling, Pat. Take a look at that contract you were so anxious to sign.”)
“You were just as anxious. What’s the matter, kid? Cold feet already?”
(“Maybe, maybe not. I’ve got a hunch that this isn’t going to be one long happy picnic. But I’ve learned one thing already; when the Captain sends for a bucket of paint, he wants a full bucket and no excuses. So switch on that recorder and stand by to take down figures.”)