He continued to feel physically peculiar, but she had been right on that, too. After a while he simply adjusted to it. He still had the impression that he was moving his body in a world where the laws of mechanics had been slightly modified, but it was a feeling that faded.

“Do you want to join us for dinner?” The voice came suddenly from the terminal next to his bed. It was Garao, another of the ship’s company that he had encountered in his travels around the forward section.

“I don’t think so.” Then he sat up quickly. “No, wait a minute. Yes, I do. I’ll come over.” He didn’t feel hungry — except for more information. And the only way to get that seemed to be from other people. Direct exploration of the ship had been totally unrewarding.

“No need for that,” said Garao. “Hold tight.”

There was the now-familiar moment of disorientation. He found he was sitting in the dining area with three others. Captain Rinker was not present. As Ferranti had told him, the captain much preferred his own company and often dined alone. Everyone seemed to take it for granted that Peron would now eat and drink the same things as the rest of them. When he arrived there were already five or six different dishes on the table — all of them unfamiliar. He found something that looked like a fish fillet, but clearly wasn’t. And there were several pseudo-meat products, each flanked by some kind of vegetable. Nothing tasted quite the way he expected — and all the food was cold.

The others seemed surprised when he mentioned that. Ferranti looked at Garao and at the linguist, Atiyah, then shrugged.

“I should have mentioned that to you before. You won’t get hot food in S-space. Better become used to it cold.”

“But why?”

“Wait until we get to HQ, and ask there.” Ferranti was clearly uncomfortable with her non-answer. She was sitting next to Peron, so he was faced only with her profile. But her voice showed her discomfort. “I would tell you, but it’s against captain’s orders. If you like hot food, I can make what we’re eating more acceptable. It’s easy enough to order spices. Command: Bring more of these dishes for Peron Turca, but with added hot spice.”

There was a delay of about fifteen seconds, then additional dishes appeared on the table in front of Peron. He was preparing to help himself to them, when he noticed the expression on Garao and Atiyah’s faces, across the table from him. “What’s wrong? Isn’t it all right for me to eat these?”

“That’s not the problem.” Garao picked up an empty plate. “Command: Take this away.”

Again there was a delay of a few seconds, then the plate suddenly vanished. “See?” Garao looked gleeful. “It’s the same trouble we had on the trip out from Headquarters. Seems even worse.”

“It is,” said Ferranti. “This time it took twice as long.”

“What took twice as long?” Peron felt as though they were speaking in riddles just to confuse him.

“Service,” said Atiyah. He was a man of few words. “It should be instantaneous. Let’s time the delay. Command: Bring me a glass of water.”

They sat in silence, until after about ten seconds a filled glass of clear liquid appeared in front of Atiyah.

Garao nodded. “We’d better notify Rinker at once. He’ll have to leave S-space to correct this. Serves the stiff-necked bastard right — him and his ‘perfectly run ship.’ “

“And won’t that make him pleased,” said Ferranti. “Already he’s complaining what a disaster this trip has been.”

“Leave S-space? But where will he go?”

The others looked at Peron for a moment. “Sorry,” said Garao sympathetically. “But this is captain’s orders again. We can’t include you on this. Command: Take Peron back to his room.”

“Wait a minute.” Peron was frantic. “Look, to hell with captain’s orders. If something is wrong I have a right to know it, too. I’m on the ship as well as you. I want to stay here and find out what’s happening.”

But the last sentence was wasted. Peron added a string of curses to it. The service delay might worry the others, but it was still too short. He was back in his room again, talking to the empty walls.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Peron allowed himself only a few seconds of cursing. Then he ripped off his shoes and ran at top speed along the corridor that led to the upper part of the ship. The monitors would still show his movements, that seemed certain. But now there was an emergency on board, so who would be watching? There would never be a better chance to explore areas that were normally forbidden.

His earlier careful study of the ship’s internal layout had not been wasted. He ran fast and silently toward Rinker’s living quarters, sure of every corridor. At the branch before Rinker’s door he paused and peered around the corner. Was he in time? If Rinker had already left, there would be no way to know where he had gone.

He heard the door slide open and ducked back, then retreated to the next bend in the corridor. No footsteps. Rinker must be heading in the other direction. He ran lightly back and stole another look along the corridor, just in time to see the disappearing back of Rinker’s blue jacket and shiny bald head. He was heading over to the left, angling away from the dining room.

Peron tried to visualize the geometry. What lay in that direction? All that he could remember was two great storage chambers, each filled with some kind of pellets, and more living quarters. The suspense room lay out at the very end of the same corridor.

Rinker was heading steadily on, hunched over and not looking back. Past the storage areas, past the living areas — what could he possibly want in the suspense room?

Had Peron forgotten some branch in the corridor? He knew he could not ignore the possibility. He took a bigger chance and closed the distance that separated them. He was close enough to hear Rinker’s heavy breathing, and to smell the unpleasant musky talc that he used as body powder.

Peron’s nose wrinkled. No wonder the man usually made his trips alone! He hesitated at the door of the suspense room. Rinker had gone inside, but there was no way to follow him in and remain unnoticed.

There was a creaking sound from within. Peron ducked his head briefly into the doorway. Rinker had opened one of the great, gleaming sarcophagi — and now he was climbing inside and closing the door.

As soon as the front panel was completely closed Peron sneaked forward into the room. But instead of going to Rinker’s chest he went to one farther along the line. He looked in through the transparent top. Lum lay there, white and corpselike. Peron tried to ignore the massive, still form and looked instead at the walls of the container.

Strange. Although he had not noticed it on his first visit with Captain Rinker, the box seemed to have a complete set of controls inside, as well as outside — as though those imprisoned frozen figures might waken, and wish to control the apparatus from within. And here was something else, just as odd. At the far end of the container, leading only into the blank wall behind it, was another door, the same size as the one at this end.

A couple of minutes had passed since Rinker had gone inside and closed the door. Peron stepped quietly across to stand beside that box. He placed his ear close to it. There was a hissing of gases, and the dull thump of a pump. Peron risked a quick look in through the top. Rinker was lying there, eyes closed. He looked quite relaxed and normal, but a network of silvery filaments had appeared from the walls of the container and attached themselves to various parts of his body. Fine sprays of white fluid were drifting down from tiny nozzles to dampen his skin. Peron touched the surface of the container, expecting the icy cold he had felt at Lum’s casket. He jumped and pulled his hand away sharply. The surface was hot and tingling, as though it was sending an electric current through him. For a couple of minutes the situation did not change. Then the spray turned off. The nozzles were drawn back into the side of the container and the silver filaments loosened and withdrew. Peron watched and waited. Ten seconds later Rinker’s body seemed to tremble for a moment.