"Uh? Why, yes."
"Do you know all the tables? Or just some of them?"
"I know all the standard tables and manuals that are what an astrogator calls his 'working tools.'" Max started to tell about his uncle, Walther interrupted gently.
"If you please, sir. I'm glad to hear it. I'm _very_ glad to hear it. Because the only such books in this ship are the ones in your head."
Kelly had missed the books, of course--not Walther. When he disclosed his suspicions to Walther the two conducted a search. When that failed, it was announced that one (but only one) set was missing; Walther had offered a reward, and the ship had been combed from stern to astrodome--no manuals.
"I suppose he ditched them dirtside," Walther finished. You know where that leaves us--we're in a state of seige. And we'd find them only by accident if we weren't. So I'm very glad you have the same confidence in your memory that Kelly has."
Max was beginning to have misgivings--it is one thing to do something as a stunt, quite another to do it of necessity. "It isn't that bad," he answered. "Perhaps Kelly never thought of it, but logarithms and binary translation tables can probably be borrowed from engineering--with those we could fudge up methods for any straight hop. The others are needed mostly for anomalous transitions."
"Kelly thought of that, too. Tell me, Captain, how does a survey ship go back after it penetrates a newly located congruency?"
"Huh? So _that_ is what you want me to do with the ship?"
"It is not for me," Walther said formally, "to tell the Captain where to take his ship."
Max said slowly, "I've thought about it. I've had a lot of time to think lately." He did not add that he had dwelt on it nights in captivity to save his reason. "Of course, we don't have the instruments that survey ships carry, nor does applied astrogation go much into the theory of calculating congruencies. And even some survey ships don't come back."
"But ..." They were interrupted by a knock on the door. A steward's mate came in and loaded the table with food. Max felt himself starting to drool.
He spread a slice of toast with butter and jam, and took a big bite. "My, this is good!"
"I should have realized. Have a banana, sir? They look quite good--I believe hydroponics has had to thin them out lately."
Max shuddered. "I don't think I'll ever eat bananas again. Or pawpaws."
"Allergic, Captain?"
"Not exactly. Well ... yes."
He finished the toast and said, "About that possibility. I'll let you know later."
"Very well, Captain."
Shortly before the dinner hour Max stood in front of the long mirror in the Captain's bedroom and looked at himself. His hair was short again and two hours sleep had killed some of his fatigue. He settled a cap on his head at the proper angle--the name in the sweat band was "Hendrix"; he had found it laid out with one of his own uniforms to which captain's insignia had been added. The sunburst on his chest bothered him--that he was indeed captain he conceded, even though it seemed like a wild dream, but he had felt that he was not entitled to anything but the smaller sunburst and circle, despite his four stripes.
Walther and Samuels had been respectful but firm, with Samuels citing precedents that Max could not check on. Max had given in.
He looked at himself, braced his shoulders, and sighed. He might as well go face them. As he walked down the companionway to the lounge he heard the speakers repeating, "All hands! All passengers! Report to Bifrost Lounge!"
The crowd made way for him silently. He went to the Captain's table--his table!--and sat down at its head. Walther was standing by the chair. "Good evening, Captain."
"Evening, Mr. Walther."
Ellie was seated across from him. She caught his eye and smiled. "Hello, Ellie." He felt himself blushing.
"Good evening, Captain," she said firmly. She was dressed in the same high style she had worn the first time he had ever seen her in the lounge; it did not seem possible that this lady could be the same girl whose dirty face had looked at him over three-dee boards scratched in dirt.
"Uh, how are your feet?"
"Bandages and bedroom slippers. But the Surgeon did a fine job. I'll be dancing tomorrow."
"Don't rush it."
She looked at his stripes and his chest. "You should talk."
Before he could answer the unanswerable Walther leaned over and said quietly, "We're ready, Captain."
"Oh. Go ahead." Walther tapped on a water glass.
The First Officer explained the situation in calm tones that made it seem reasonable, inevitable. He concluded by saying, "... and so, in accordance with law and the custom of space, I have relinquished my temporary command to your new captain. Captain Jones!"
Max stood up. He looked around, swallowed, tried to speak, and couldn't. Then, as effectively as if it had been a dramatic pause and not desperation, he picked up his water tumbler and took a sip. "Guests and fellow crewmen," he said, "we can't stay here. You know that. I have been told that our Surgeon calls the system we are up against here 'symbiotic enslavement'-- like dog to man, only more so, and apparently covering the whole animal kingdom on this planet. Well, men aren't meant for slavery, symbiotic or any sort. But we are too few to win out now, so we must leave."
He stopped for another sip and Ellie caught his eye, encouraging him. "Perhaps someday other men will come back--better prepared. As for us, I am going to try to take the _Asgard_ back through the ... uh, 'hole' you might call it, where we came out. It's a chancy thing. No one is forced to come along--but it is the only possible way to get home. Anyone who's afraid to chance it will be landed on the north pole of planet number three--the evening star we have been calling 'Aphrodite.' You may be able to survive there, although it is pretty hot even at the poles. If you prefer that alternative, turn your names in this evening to the Purser. The rest of us will try to get home." He stopped, then said suddenly, "That's all," and sat down.
There was no applause and he felt glumly that he had muffed his first appearance. Conversation started up around the room, crewmen left, and steward's mates quickly started serving. Ellie looked at him and nodded quietly. Mrs. Mendoza was on his left; she said, "Ma--I mean 'Captain'--is it really so dangerous? I hardly like the thought of trying anything _risky_. Isn't there something else we can do?"
"No."
"But surely there must be?"
"No. I'd rather not discuss it at the table."
"But ..." He went on firmly spooning soup, trying not to tremble. When he looked up he was caught by a glittering eye across the table, a Mrs. Montefiore, who preferred to be called "Principessa"--a dubious title. "Dolores, don't bother him. We want to hear about his adventures--don't we, Captain?"
"No."
"Come now! I hear that it was terribly _romantic_." She drawled the word and gave Ellie a sly, sidelong look. She looked back at Max with the eye of a predatory bird and showed her teeth. She seemed to have more teeth than was possible. "Tell us _all_ about it!"
"No."
"But you simply _can't_ refuse!"
Eldreth smiled at her and said, "Princess darling-- your mouth is showing."
Mrs. Montefiore shut up.
After dinner Max caught Walther alone. "Mr. Walther?"
"Oh--yes, Captain?"
"Am I correct in thinking that it is my privilege to pick the persons who sit at my table?"
"Yes, sir."
"In that case--that Montefiore female. Will you have her moved, please? Before breakfast?"
Walther smiled faintly. "Aye aye, sir."