"What?"
"I thought it was a little weird, coming out the way we did. I was going to ask the lady why they didn't have something better." He pointed with his chin.
A half kilometer away a telescoping tubeway connected the ship with the rock face. BenRabi soon indicated a half dozen more connections. Each was large enough to use to drive heavy equipment onto and off the harvest-ship.
"Think they're just working on you and me? Or the whole group?"
"Fly easy," benRabi suggested.
"It's my ass in a sling, Moyshe. I'll be your basic model of decorum."
"Are these two part of a plan?"
"Take it for granted. The question is, was it supposed to be obvious? Or are they just clumsy?"
"To quote a certain Admiral, who used to tell us what to do, ‘Just lay back in the weeds and let them show their hand.' He was good at mixing metaphors."
"How's the writing going, Moyshe?"
They turned to follow the Seiner couple, who were shooing the others into a tunnel.
"I haven't written a page in months. I don't know why."
"Time?"
"That's part of it. But I always found time before."
Atop all his other hobbies, benRabi dabbled at writing short fiction. Traveling to Carson's from Luna Command, an eon ago, he had looked forward to the Starfisher mission as a vacation operation during which he could get a lot of work done. He had expected to stay a maximum of six weeks. The Admiral had promised... A year had passed, and he had completed one dreary story, the manuscript of which he had not seen in months.
Once they departed the central hollow of the asteroid they entered local artificial gravity. There was little visible difference between ship and shore.
"Oh, boy!" Mouse said. "More brand new same old thing. This is going to get boring in a few years, Moyshe."
"Sorry you decided to stay?"
Mouse eyed him momentarily. "No." His expression became a little strange, but benRabi paid it no attention.
"Look, Mouse. Kids. I haven't seen any kids since we left Luna Command."
"Hooray."
"Come on, man. Look at that. Must be some kind of class tour."
Twenty little girls around eight years old were giggling along behind an old man. The old man was explaining something in a crackling voice. Several of the girls were aping him behind his back. Some of the others were making faces at the mockers.
"Call me back in ten years," Mouse said. "I got no use for them till they get ripe."
"You have got to be the sourest... "
"It some kind of crime not to like kids? Speaking of which, I never saw you get along with any but Jupp's boy and that Greta. And she was sixteen going on twenty-six."
Jupp von Drachau had been their classmate in Academy. He was now High Command's special errand boy. He had helped with their operation on The Broken Wings. Later, it had been his assignment to provide the firepower when it had come time to seize Payne's Fleet. They had thought. His premature approach and detection had left them stranded for the full year they had contracted to work for the Seiners.
"Horst-Johann. I didn't see him last time we were in Luna Command. That's two years ago now. Damn, time flies. Bet he's grown half a meter."
Their male guide said, "People, we'll lunch in one of the worker's commons before we show you a typical creche. Don't be shy. Visit. People here are as curious about you as you are about them. We'd appreciate it if you'd stay close, though. If one of you gets lost, we'll both have trouble explaining."
"Great," Mouse said. "Still more brand new same old thing. Doesn't anybody ever eat anywhere but in these goddamned cafeterias? I'd sell my soul for a go at a decent kitchen on my own."
"You cook?"
"I'm a man of myriad talents, Moyshe. Think that's what I'll do when we hit The Broken Wings. Figure out how to make myself a home-cooked meal. And devour it in private. Not out in the middle of a goddamned football field with five thousand other people."
"You've got one classic case of the crankies this morning, my friend."
"I didn't get any last night. Besides, I'm not patient with crap, and this whole field trip is main course horseshit without the hollandaise."
The commons was as predictable as Mouse feared. So was the food. The conversation did not sparkle either, till Mouse took the offensive. "Grace, what's the point of this exercise?"
"I don't understand your question, Mister Storm."
Moyshe grinned behind his hand. The woman was sensitive to that overpowering Mouse charm. She had become as decorous as a schoolteacher by way of compensation.
"This bullshit exercise. You dragged us away from work we don't have time to get done right anyway. You run us out on a goddamned wire, then walk us all to hell and gone when we could have done the whole thing on a bus. You tell us we're going to see how Seiners live when they're not in the fleet, but you just show us the same old stuff. And since you've only kidnapped us for today, you're not really serious about showing us anything. I mean, an idiot would realize that it would take weeks just to skim the surface of a civilization like yours."
The woman's dusky face darkened with embarrassment.
"I mean, here we sit, eight former landsmen, all with that much figured out, and all of us on our best behavior figuring it's some kind of test or someone wants us off Danion for a while... Whichever, it's dumb. You're wasting our time and yours."
"Mister Storm... "
"Don't mind him," Moyshe interjected. "It's old age creeping up on him. He's not as tolerant of games-playing as he used to be."
Mouse grinned and winked. BenRabi grinned back.
Their guides surveyed the other landsmen. They said nothing, but aggravated agreement marked each of their faces.
"There's no point in going ahead, then," the male guide said. "Your response is data enough. Finish your meals. I'll be right back." He disappeared.
"What is the point?" benRabi asked.
Grace shrugged. "I just work here."
"Psychologist?"
She was startled. "How did you know?"
"I can smell them. You really married to him?"
"No." She laughed weakly. "He's my brother."
"Ooh." Mouse said it softly. Only Moyshe heard.
"You swallow something radioactive, Mouse?"
"What?"
"You just started glowing."
The lady psychologist was not immune. Mouse wangled a date before her brother returned. BenRabi did not doubt that Mouse would make the date an interesting experience.
He could not fathom Mouse's method. Even knowing they were being manipulated, knowing Mouse's reputation, women walked right in. Indeed, Mouse's reputation seemed to make him more interesting.
Their guide returned. He deposited his half-finished tray on the conveyor to the sculleries. He waited impatiently while his flock followed suit. He scowled at Mouse, who had opened up with the big guns and had Grace laughing like a teenager at stories woollier than the mammoths they antedated.
"Style," benRabi told himself. "That's what he's got."
"Excuse me?" one of the ladies asked.
"Talking to myself, Ellen. It's the only way to hold an intelligent conversation."
"You think they'll be mad at us because of this?"
"Maybe. More likely at each other. Like Mouse said, it was a dumb idea, no matter what the point was."
"Unless it's a cover."
"That's a possibility."
The man had a bus waiting outside the cafeteria. In ten minutes it reached the departure bay they had left so laboriously earlier. By then Mouse was holding Grace's hand. He had her purring and almost unable to wait till he got off work.
"Come on, Storm," her brother snapped. "Back to your assigned department. The rest of you, go back to your jobs. Grace, for god's sake... "