"Yes, sir-aye aye, sir."
"That's better."
Very slowly they drifted against a side wall, bumped against it, and started sliding slowly toward the outboard wall, the one to which the mess tables were fastened. By the time they reached it there was enough spin on the ship to enable them to stand up and the mess tables now assumed their proper relationship, upright on the floor, while the hatch through which they had lately floated was a hole in the ceiling above.
Matt found that there was no sensation of dizziness; the effect was purely one of increasing weight. He still felt light, but he weighed enough to sit down at a mess table and stay in contact with his seat; minute by minute, imperceptibly, he grew heavier.
He looked over his place at the table, seeking controls that would permit him to order his meal. There were clips and locking holes, which he guessed, were intended for use in free flight, but nothing else. He looked up as Lopez banged on the table.
"And now, gentlemen, this is not a resort hotel. Count off, around the table." He waited until the youngsters had done so, then said, "Remember your order. Numbers one and two will rustle up the calories today, and all of you in rotation thereafter."
"Where, sir?"
"Use your eyes. Over there."
"Over there" was a door which concealed a delivery conveyor. Cadets from other tables were gathering around it. The two cadets designated as waiters went over and returned shortly with a large metal rack containing twenty rations, each packed in its service platter and still steaming hot. Clipped to each were knife, fork, and spoons-and sipping tubes.
Matt found that the solid foods were covered by lids that snapped back over the food unless clipped up out of the way, while the liquids were in covered containers fitted with valves through which sipping tubes might be slipped. He had never before seen table utensils adapted for free-fall conditions in space. They delighted him, even though Earth-side equipment would have served as long as the ship was under spin.
Lunch was hot roast beef sandwiches with potatoes, green salad, lime sherbert, and tea. Lopez kept up a steady fire of questions throughout the meal, but Matt did not come into his range. Twenty minutes later the metal tray in front of Matt was polished almost as well as the sterilizer would achieve. He sat back, feeling that the Patrol was a good outfit and the Randolph a fine place to be.
Before turning his charges loose Lopez gave them each their schedule of assignments. Mart's room number was A-5197. All living quarters were on A- deck which was the insulated outer skin of the ship. Lopez gave them a brief, condescending lecture on the system of numbering the spaces in the ship and dismissed them. His manner gave no hint
that he himself had been lost for one full day shortly after his own arrival a year earlier.
Matt got lost, of course.
He attempted to take a short cut straight through the ship on the advice of a passing marine and got completely twisted when he found himself at the no-weight center of the Randolph. When he had worked his way back down levels of increasing weight until he found himself at one gravity and could go no further he stopped the first cadet with a black arm band whom he could find and threw himself on his mercy. A few minutes later he was led to corridor five and found his own room.
Tex was already there. "Hello, Matt," he greeted him. "What do you think of our little cabin in the sky?"
Matt put down his jump bag. "Looks all right, but the first time I have to leave it I'm going to unroll a ball of string. Is there a viewport?"
"Not likely! What did you expect? A balcony?"
"I don't know. I sort of hoped that we'd be able to look out and see Earth." He started poking around, opening doors. "Where's the 'fresher?"
"Better start unrolling your ball of string. It's way down the passage."
"Oh. Kind of primitive. Well, I guess we can stand it." He went on exploring. There was a common room about fifteen feet square. It had doors, two on each side, leading into smaller cubicles. "Say, Tex," he announced when he had opened them all, "this place is fitted up for four people."
"Go to the head of the class."
"I wonder who we'll draw."
"So do I." Tex took out his assignment sheet. "It says here that we can reshuffle roommates until supper time tomorrow. Got any ideas, Matt?"
"No, I can't say I really know anybody but you. It doesn't matter as long as they don't snore-and as long as it isn't Burke."
They were interrupted by a rap on the door. Tex called out, "Come in!" and Oscar Jensen stuck his blond head inside.
"Busy?"
"Not at all."
"I've got a problem. Pete and I found ourselves assigned to one of these four-way rooms and the two roommates we landed with want us to make room for two other fellows. Are you guys tied down as yet?"
Tex looked at Matt, who nodded. Tex turned back to Oscar. "You can kiss me, Oscar-we're practically married."
An hour later the four had settled down to domesticity. Pete was in high spirits. "The Randolph is just what the doctor ordered," he announced. "I'm going to like it here. Any time my legs start to ache all I have to do is go up to G-deck and it's just like being back home-I weigh my proper weight again."
"Yep," agreed Tex, "if the joint were co-educational it would be perfect."
Oscar shook his head. "Not for me. I'm a woman-hater."
Tex clucked sorrowfully. "You poor, poor boy. Now take my Uncle Bodie- he thought he was a woman-hater, too. . . ."
Matt never found out how Uncle Bodie got over his disability. An announcer, mounted in the common room, summoned him to report to compartment B-121. He got there, after a few wrong turns, and found another youngster cadet just coming out. "What's it for?" he asked.
"Go on in," the other told him. "Orientation."
Matt went in and found an officer seated at a desk. "Cadet Dodson, sir, reporting as ordered."
The officer looked up and smiled. "Sit down, Dodson, Lieutenant Wong is my name. I'm your coach."
"My coach, sir?"
"Your tutor, your supervisor, anything you care to call it. It's my business to see that you and a dozen more like you study what you need to study. Think of me as standing behind you with a black snake whip." He grinned.
Matt grinned back. He began to like Mr. Wong.
Wong picked up a sheaf of papers. "I've got your record here-let's lay out a course of study. I see you type, use a slide rule and differential calculator, and can take shorthand-those are all good. Do you know any outer languages? By the way, don't bother to talk Basic; I speak north
American English fairly well. How long have you spoken Basic?"
"Er, I don't know any outer languages, sir. I had Basic in high school, but I don't really think in it. I have to watch what I'm saying."
"I'll put you down for Venerian, Martian, and Venus trade talk. Your voice writer-you've looked over the equipment in your room?"
"Just glanced at it, sir. I saw there was a study desk and a projector."
"You'll find a spool of instructions in the upper righthand drawer of the desk. Play them over when you go back. The voice writer built into your desk is a good model. It can hear and transcribe not only the Basic vocabulary, but the Patrol's special vocabulary of technical words. If you will stick to its vocabulary, you can even write love letters on it-" Dodson glanced sharply at Lieutenant Wong, but Wong's face was impassive; Matt decided not to laugh.
"-so it's worth your while to perfect your knowledge of Basic even for social purposes. However, if you speak a word the machine can't find on its list, it will just 'beep' complainingly until you come to its rescue. Now about math-I see you have a condition in tensor calculus."
"Yes, sir," Matt admitted. "My high school didn't offer it."
Wong shook his head sadly. "I sometimes think that modern education is deliberately designed to handicap a boy. If cadets arrived here having already been taught the sort of things the young human animal can learn, and should learn, there would be fewer casualties in the Patrol. Never mind- we'll start you on tensors at once. You can't study nuclear engineering until you've learned the language of it. Your school was the usual sort, Dodson? Classroom recitations, daily assignments, and so forth?"