And then the container was empty. In a fraction of a second, before Peron could even blink, Rinker had vanished completely.

Peron was tempted to open the door of the container. Instead, he went to an empty one that stood near to it, and opened that. The internal controls appeared quite simple. There was a three-way dial, a timer with units in days, hours, and hundredths of hours, and a manual switch. The switch setting showed only an N, an S, and a C. The C position was in red, and below it stood a written notice: WARNING: DO NOT USE SETTING FOR COLD © WITHOUT SETTING TIMING SWITCH OR WITHOUT ASSISTANCE OF AN EXTERNAL OPERATOR.

Peron was thinking of climbing inside to take a closer look when he heard a warning creak from the other container. The door was being opened again. He forced himself to move carefully and quietly as he closed his casket. Too late to leave the room — the door was swinging open. Fortunately it came toward him, so that he was hidden temporarily behind it. He moved silently to the shelter of the next box and ducked down behind it.

Rinker had returned. He was slowly heading out of the room, looking neither to right nor left. Peron caught one glimpse or his half-profile, and saw sunken, bloodshot eyes and a pallid complexion. He followed at a discreet distance. The other man walked drunkenly, as though totally exhausted and giddy with fatigue. Instead of continuing to his quarters he went into the dining-room area. Garao, Ferranti, and Atiyah were still there, talking.

And they were still eating dinner. That seemed peculiar, until Peron realized it had been only a few minutes since Garao’s verbal command had whipped him unwillingly back to his room.

“All fixed,” said Captain Rinker harshly. “There’s a defective component in the command translation device. We don’t have replacements on board, so I’ve jury-rigged it for the trip.”

“Will it last, or will it fail again?” That was Olivia Ferranti’s voice. “It will fail again eventually. Not for a while, I hope.” Rinker gave a great yawn. “That was almost too much for me. It took a long time. I was there nearly five minutes, with no rest. I must go and sleep now.”

There was a murmur of semi-sympathetic voices. “Let’s hope it doesn’t go again during the trip,” said Garao — though his tone didn’t support his words. “It won’t,” said Rinker. “I don’t expect any more trouble on this trip.” Peron thought of those words as he tiptoed away along the corridor. Rinker’s actions and comments were revealing, and Peron had some faint inkling now as to what was going on.

If he were right, Rinker had more trouble coming than he imagined. * * *

As soon as he was out of earshot of the dining area, Peron began to run again at top speed. The emergency was over — and that meant his movements would be watched again. Would there be monitors, even within the caskets?

He reached the suspense room and went at once to the same casket that Rinker had occupied. The door opened with the same creak, and he climbed inside and lay down. All the controls were within easy reach. He could stretch up his hand and set them with a simple push of a button. The choice was already fixed. He didn’t want S, since he was already in S-space; and he didn’t want C, since that was the cold sleep of Elissa and the others. It had to be N — but what did N mean? Peron had been moving at top speed, but now he hesitated. Suppose the process that took Rinker out of S-space called for other knowledge that Peron lacked? It was clear that the others on the ship had extra powers, since service commands from Peron were ignored. What if the use of this device required those same powers?

Time was passing. At any moment the familiar dizziness might occur, and he would find that he was once more in his room. But still his finger stayed lightly on the button. When he had been absolutely certain of unavoidable death on Whirlygig he had been able to face it staunchly, with a complete calm. This was different. Whatever Rinker and the others might do to him, he did not believe that they would kill him. But he could die now by his own hand. His next action might prove to be suicide.

Peron took a last look around at the casket walls. Now, or never. He drew a long, deep breath, closed his eyes, and pressed the button marked N.

CHAPTER TWENTY

There was no startling moment of change. Peron had expected a twisting surge of nausea, or perhaps some unendurable pain of transition. Instead he felt a cool touch of electrodes at his temples, and the soothing spray of fluid on his skin. He relaxed, and drifted away into a quiet meditation. It went on for a long time, and ended only when he became aware of his own heartbeat, loud in the secret inner chamber of his ears.

A feeling of well-being was creeping over him, as though he were waking from the best sleep of his life. There was a temptation to lie there for a long time, basking in the sensation. But then he became filled with a sudden fear that he had merely fallen asleep, that nothing else had happened. Worried, he opened his eyes and looked around him.

The inside of the casket had not changed its configuration — but, startlingly, it had somehow changed color from a bland buff-yellow to a pale orange. Even his clothing was different, black instead of brown.

He sat up, then steadied himself against one wall. He had fallen asleep in a one-gee gravity field; now he was in freefall.

The door through which he had entered could not be locked from the inside. What about pursuit? Aware that he was still likely to be followed and discovered, Peron scrambled his way toward the other door. Thank heaven for the freefall experience he had gained after they left Pentecost. He felt a little peculiar now, but there was no vertigo or feeling of nausea.

The door opened readily. He pulled himself through and closed it behind him. There was an outside catch, and he set it so that it could not be opened from within the box. Next he moved along the row of doors, and locked each one in the same way. Then, and only then, did he feel a first moment of safety. He looked around. He was floating free in a long, turning passageway. It was dimly lit by faint yellow tubes that ran parallel to the walls, and far away in the distance he could hear a low-pitched rumbling and whistling. He headed in that direction.

As the passage turned, he came to a square-sided chamber with a fully transparent external wall. He stood there for a long time, overwhelmed by the sight of the universe outside the ship. The faint, luminous haze of S-space had gone. Instead he was gazing on a glittering sea of stars, as bright as they could appear only from open space. The old familiar constellations were there, just as they had looked from orbit around Pentecost. They gave him an odd feeling of reassurance. He was still alive, and he was back in a universe that he perhaps understood.

While he was still watching, there was a louder rumble in the corridor. A machine was approaching, drifting along the wall on an invisible magnetic track. The main device was small, only as big as his head, but a number of long, articulated arms were tucked away in at the side. He watched it warily. It moved along quite slowly, at less than walking speed. A few meters away from him it ducked away into a small door in the wall of the corridor. Peron recognized the type of aperture — there were hundreds of them, all over the ship. They were everywhere, from the living quarters to the dining room to the library, and he had been unable to open any of them. The machine had no such trouble. It slipped through smoothly, and vanished.

Peron continued on his way. He was in a part of the ship that he had never seen before. The passage finally led him to a great chamber, where hundreds of machines were located. Most sat immobile, but from time to time one or more of them would start into action and slide off on some mysterious errand. He followed a couple of them. Each finally passed through one of the small doors that lined each corridor.