"Better get Ozum's okay," said Reith. "He wouldn't like it if you didn't go through channels."
The next time Reith saw him, Marot was in the galley speaking to Yeshram, the stout cook. Ozum glanced in and went about his business; but Yeshram seemed too awed by his off-planet visitor to say more than: "Aye, sir. Aye, sir. I'll try it, sir."
"For tomorrow's breakfast," said Marot, "we shall learn what in my country we call crêpes. They are a kind of very thin—Ah, Fergus!"
"Yes?" said Reith, looking into the galley.
"What is Gozashtandou for 'pancake'? I cannot find it in my phrase book."
Reith frowned. "I don't know of an exact equivalent; but nánash comes pretty close."
"Excellent! Master Yeshram, we shall make the crêpe, which is a very thin nánash. We begin with badr powder and shaihan milk. Have you two bijar eggs? First we shall separate the yolks from the whites, because they must be added to the mixture separately. A little salt ... A large spoonful of that sap you use for sweetening ..."
Marot finally spooned the thin batter into Yeshram's hot copper frying pan and tilted the pan with a wobbling motion, round and round, so that the sizzling batter ran to all parts of the pan bottom. He picked up the spatula, saying: "Now, my friend, regard! I take the gâche, whatever you call it ... There we are! It is simple when one knows. Then we roll it up, so. Now taste!"
Yeshram tasted and gave an appreciative gurgle. Marot continued: "Today you shall pour a crêpe. Tomorrow you will mix the ingredients under my eye. Go ahead, pour!"
Nervously Yeshram picked up the frying pan and the serving spoon. As he spooned the mixture into the pan, which had been heating on his little coal stove, Alicia appeared at the galley entrance, saying: "Move over a little, Fergus, so I can see."
Yeshram began to wobble the pan as he had seen Marot do. "Hey!" cried Alicia, stepping forward. "You're doing it all wrong!"
"Please, Alicia!" said Marot. "You will only confuse him. He must learn by doing—"
"We can't let him form bad habits; poor pedagogy. Let me show—"
"Lish!" exclaimed Reith. "Stop interfering and get out of the galley!"
Bewildered, Yeshram looked from one vehement Terran to the other, pan and spoon immobile in his hands.
"You'll ruin it!" cried Alicia. "Give me that frying pan!"
She grabbed for the handle, but Yeshram refused to let go. As the two struggled for possession, Reith reached into the confined space and seized Alicia's left wrist. "Come on, Lish! You'll only make a mess—"
As he spoke, he pulled Alicia towards the galley door. Stubbornly she resisted, trying the while to keep her hold on the utensil. Yeshram, his antennae quivering with fright, suddenly released his grip on the handle. The pan swung wildly, and the hot metal scorched her left arm.
"Ow!" she yelled, and dropped the pan. It landed with a clang upside down on the galley floor.
Reith backed out the doorway as Alicia picked up the pan, beneath which lay the crumpled remains of Yeshram's crêpe.
"You—you—" she breathed, advancing on Reith with murder in her eyes. Wielding the pan like a headsman's ax, she whipped it up over her head and, with a mighty swing, slammed it down on Reith's coppery hair.
Reith staggered back a step and slumped to the deck, with his back against the rail. He slowly put his hands to his head and groaned.
"Are you mad, Alicia?" exclaimed Marot. "Is it that you wish to give him the concussion? Or perhaps to fracture the skull?"
"Fergus!" she cried. "Are you all right?" As Reith looked up, blinking from unfocussed eyes, she added: "You're so pale!"
Slowly he replied: "I don't know. What happened? You're— you are my wife—Alicia Dyckman Reith. Or are you still my wife? What are you doing here? And that fellow is ... Wait. He is Aristide—Aristide—who?"
Marot said: "My poor friend, let me take you to your cabin. You have had an accident."
"Oh, Fergus! Darling!" wailed Alicia.
"Help me up, Aristide," said Reith. The two staggered into his cabin. Reith sat down on his bunk, while Marot poured water into a basin and dipped a towel. He wiped the blood from Reith's hair and saw that the scalp was broken and oozing. The flesh beneath had begun to swell into a fine goose egg.
"How are you now?" asked Marot.
"My head aches," said Reith. "But I'm beginning to remember. It was that damned pancake ..."
Alicia had followed the men into Reith's cabin. Peering at the wound, she exclaimed: "Oh, Fergus, I'm so horribly sorry! What can I do—"
Reith raised his head and gave her the level, slit-eyed, expressionless stare with which a man confronts an enemy. In an even, coldly precise voice, he said: "What you can do is to stay out of my sight. I never want to see you again."
Stifling a sob, Alicia ran to her cabin and closed the door.
Reith presently began fumbling with the money belt beneath his shirt. He said to Marot: "While I think of it, here are enough LPs to last you and Alicia for the rest of the trip." He held out a fistful of capsules. "You give her her half; I don't want to be the one to give them to her."
"How many does that leave for you?" asked Marot.
"Never mind that!"
"My friend, I insist; or I will not take them."
"Well, truth to tell, that's all there are. My share's finished."
"But I cannot accept—"
"You can and you will!" said Reith. "I'm the youngest of the three of us, and it won't hurt me to age at the normal rate for a couple of days."
"No, I beg you! Keep half for yourself, and I will give the rest to Alicia. I, too, can do without for a little while. We arrive at Novorecife in two or three days."
At last they compromised. Alicia should receive her full ration, but the men would use the precious longevity pills only on alternate days.
After the frying-pan incident, Reith and Alicia said nothing to each other beyond a curt "Good morning." Alicia doggedly added to her notes, rarely speaking save to ask Marot: "What was the name of that place where ...?" or "Remember that Krishnan who ...?" or "What day was it that we ...?" When Marot could not answer the question, he sometimes got the information from Reith; but Alicia never spoke to Reith directly.
In one of his morose moods, Reith sat on a chest on deck and watched the familiar banks of the Pichidé creep past. Marot said: "Cheer up, my old one! Despite its hardships and hazards, our safari has been a great success."
"Huh? It's nice for you to think so; but I don't see that we've accomplished a damned thing."
"Ah, but we have! Your Ozymandias is a significant step in understanding the evolutionary development of Krishna."
"I know that's important to you," said Reith gloomily. "As for me—well, I just can't feel passionately involved."
"In addition," continued the genial scientist, "we broke the religious tyranny of the Bákhites. We pried open the door to admit the truth of evolution to-Chilihagh. This is one key— the thin end of the wedge, as you say—to starting the scientific revolution here."
"You think that's a good thing?"
"But of course! Policies based on irrational myths cannot in the long run benefit their believers. People need a solid grounding in the science, to achieve their desires by logical action."
"Well," said Reith, "during the last few centuries, a substantial fraction of our fellow Terrans have abandoned the 'irrational myths' of the major religions for what they consider scientific materialism. But I don't see that it's done a damned thing for their manners and morals. If anything, they've become worse. Maybe they need cults and doctrines like Lazdai's to make them behave."
Marot brushed the objection aside. "You are a bom pessimist, my old one. Then, having amassed an amazing lot of data on Krishnan societies, your little Alicia came close to abolishing slavery in Qirib. At least the idea of emancipation has been launched there. Besides, in this wild place, merely to have survived is a triumph."