They both looked down for a moment and shuffled their feet. They looked up at the same moment and said, "Simeon?" simultaneously, and then burst out laughing.
"You called?" The familiar image bloomed on a screen beside them.
"Ah! Oh, hi, Sim, we, uh… we…"
"We were just saying you're kinda quiet tonight," Gus finished.
"Well, with most of my senior staff here at the party, I'm sort of pulling double-duty," Simeon said listlessly. "Excuse me," and he was gone.
Patsy and Gus looked at each other in amazement, then turned to take a new look at Channa Hap, now being introduced to a cargo specialist.
Gus shook his head. "What did she do to him?"
Patsy smiled. "Trimmed his sails good and proper."
"This was not a match made in Paradise," Gus muttered.
"Oh, I dunno," Patsy said, narrowing her green eyes thoughtfully. "The woman has style, Gus. This place could use some style. Look at this party. When was the last time you came to Simeon's place and got somethin' besides beer and pretzels?"
Gus looked at her in amazement. "What's that supposed to mean? Are you telling me you can be bought with the right canapйs?"
"No. Chocolate truffles maybe, but not synthesized fish eggs on carbo wafers." At his growl she continued more seriously. "What I'm sayin' is, this place is more like a boys' camp than the hub of culture and science and business that it could be. She'll shake us up all right, but maybe that's a good thing. It's goin' to get a lot more interestin' around here."
He went back to glowering. Patsy went over to Channa to compliment her choice of the Rovolodorus' Second Celestial Suite as background music.
"Glad you like it, Ms. Coburn," Channa said. Her smile had the slightly artificial quality of someone who has spent the last few hours fending off would-be favor seekers. "You're from Larabie, though, aren't you?"
"I left," Patsy replied. "Didn't like the down-home music there, and I get so sick of the Miner's Rant and the other Pioneer Stomp stuff Simeon plays. No offense, Simeon."
"None taken," a voice said out of the air, the "n" fading into silence.
Channa's next smile was more genuine. "I'd have thought the chief environmentalist would be in favor of stability," she said.
"I get so sick of watchin' algae breed," Patsy said, and they both laughed. "Maybe that's why I had four husbands in a row-just to show I wasn't a unicellular organism."
"Goodnight," Channa called as the door swished shut behind the last departing guest. The big circular room looked even larger with the crowd gone; the holos on the walls had reset to restful underwater scenes with tropical fish.
She turned toward Simeon's screen image on the pillar-a brain's body was there, after all, and it had become a matter of courtesy in brawns to address that position even if the brain could hear them anywhere on the station. She stood a moment leisurely studying the large Sinosian tapestry that was tastefully draped across his column.
"That's a lovely hanging," she said at last. "I've been admiring it all evening." She clasped her hands behind her back and walked slowly towards him. "Thank you," she said softly. "This party was very pleasant, Simeon, and a thoughtful gesture."
Once you loosened up a little, Simeon thought in some surprise, you were fun, too. If I can just keep you half-tanked, we might be able to get along.
"Well, everyone is more relaxed at this sort of gathering," he said, "divorced from their official positions. You get to see the social side before you have to contend with the professional."
She nodded. "I had just enough time before they got here to glance at everyone's records. I didn't want to make the same mistake with them that I made with you."
"You didn't read my records?"
"No," she said archly, "I wanted to be surprised."
"So did I," he admitted.
She laughed. "Then I guess we do have something in common after all. We can both screw up. Goodnight, Simeon."
Smiling, she gave one last wave at the column as she went into her room.
She has a nice laugh, Simeon thought, as the door swished closed behind her.
Phew, Channa thought.
She thought again, and took several recondite pieces of equipment out of her bag.
When these showed that the sensors in the walls weren't activated, she was slightly ashamed of herself for being so uncharitable about Simeon.
"There is no chance of repairing it?" Amos ben Sierra Nueva said.
"Crapulous none," the technician rasped. "Esteemed sir," he added, wiping at the lubricating fluid on his cheek.
They both backed out of the corridor and dogged the hatchway. A subliminal hum surrounded them; Amos was alone among the refugees in knowing that was a bad sign. Misaligned drive, no surprise after the colony ship had spent three centuries doubling as an orbital station. It was a miracle that the engines functioned at all, and a tribute to the engineers of the Central Worlds. A double miracle that they were holding up under the unnatural stress of maintaining subspace speeds past redline for so long. Guiyon's doing.
"We will just have to economize on oxygen," Amos said firmly.
"Stop breathing?" the technician asked.
"Coldsleep," Amos replied. "That will cut down our consumption by at least half. A small crew can manage the ship. It was designed so. Guiyon could run it alone, if need be."
Sweat from more than the exertion of crawling along disused passageways glistened on the man's brown skin. Amos forced himself to breath normally as he walked back to the command deck. His chest felt heavy but it was impossible to detect any CO2 buildup yet. Purely psychological, he told himself sternly.
"There is no chance of repairing the machinery," he said to the assembled command group. A few of them grunted as if struck. "At the current rate, we will exhaust the available air supplies two-thirds of the way to our destination."
"Why was the ship not properly maintained?" someone half shouted.
"Because this was an orbital station with unlimited supplies and an algae tank!" Amos snapped, then brought himself back under control. Of necessity, they had had to dump the excess water in the tanks. Too much mass to haul when speed is essential. "We lost more supplies, too, when the enemy hulled us."
"This is our situation," he said, deliberately calm. "We have to deal with it. A hundred lives and the fate of Bethel depend upon it."
They all nodded. There was no way the Kolnari fleet could have been kept secret, even in backwaters like the Saffron system, if there were any witnesses after they left a world. Given time on Bethel, they would hide their tracks the same way.
"What… what about coldsleep?" Rachel said, licking her lips.
"A possibility presently to be considered," Amos said. "Guiyon?"
The brain's voice sounded inhumanly detached as always. There were four centuries of experience behind him, and abilities no softperson could ever match. Amos shuddered slightly. Abomination was the most charitable term the Faith used for such as he. Control yourself, Amos chided. Guiyon rescued us all. He is our only hope. The stress was bringing back archaic fears.
"Marginal," Guiyon said. "Possible. We should concentrate all the personnel in one or two compartments, pump the atmosphere from the others back into reserve, and begin coldsleep treatments immediately." He paused. "We are not properly equipped-internal temperature control is very uncertain. There is a risk of substantial casualties."