Starliner(46)

"A quick study, Dickie is," Belgeddes said approvingly.

The main room was emptying out. The Empress of Earth had six smaller dining rooms as well. Large parties could book them, but normally the separate rooms were used to accommodate groups of non-humans traveling on the vessel. The door of one opened and disgorged a herd of Rialvans, their jaws working in a sidewise rotary motion as they continued to masticate their meal.

Dewhurst sighed. "Anyone for a drink?"

Da Silva shrugged. "Fine by me. Starlight Bar all right?"

"Ugh, not me," said Ms. Dewhurst. "I'm going back to the room, dear. And I believe there's a dance in the lounge tonight."

"It gives me the creeps, looking out at all that—light," Reed said.

"That's good," replied Da Silva. "You can get a meal and a drink in any hotel in the universe. Up there—sponge space—is what makes this different."

"Ah . . ." said Wade, shooting both cuffs of his loose velour shirt. Neither wrist bore a credit bracelet. "I don't seem to be wearing my—"

"No problem," said Da Silva. "I'm buying."

They all got up. A steward and robot poised to make a final sweep.

"As usual," murmured Dewhurst. "Except when Reed's buying, or I am."

Nobody appeared to hear him.

"You know . . ." Reed said softly as he followed Da Silva out of the dining room. "The Empress is supposed to have an impressive shooting gallery . . . ."





BISCAY

"But I just want to get off and stretch my legs!" the woman cried to Commander Kneale. Her voice rose into a shrill blade of sound that sliced the muttering of the Embarkation Hall where three hundred First Class passengers waited.

These were the folk—all of them human—who hadn't heard the announcement that First and Cabin Class unloading would be delayed, or who had ignored the announcement or who simply thought that the delay would be much shorter than the two hours which had already passed. Commander Kneale himself had thought the delay would be much shorter . . . .

"I'm sorry, madam," Kneale said calmly, "but we can't permit passengers to disembark at the moment, for their own safety. I assure you that when the gangplank can be lowered, we'll announce it in all the lounges."

"But I want to get out now!" There was an edge of hysteria in her tone. There were people who could keep the feeling of being trapped in a metal coffin at bay—until landfall. Then they had to get out . . . and the trouble was, Kneale didn't dare lower the gangway until he got the all-clear signal from Third Class.

Another white uniform cut through the crowd: Crewman Blavatsky, carrying a tall glass of varicolored fluids on which bits of fruit floated. "Ms. Fessermark?" the rating said. "Would you sit with me for a moment? I'm not feeling well. . . ."

Startled, the passenger turned from Commander Kneale and allowed herself to be guided out through a corridor. The leather banquettes in the Embarkation Hall were filled by passengers waiting with slightly more patience than Ms. Fessermark had shown.

Blavatsky and her charge paused for a moment. Ms. Fessermark took the drink and downed a good three ounces of it before she lowered the glass. That ought to calm her down, if it didn't simply knock her legless when the full effect of layered rums and liqueurs set in.

Kneale's transceiver was attached to a pilaster that would recess into the gangplank when it finally opened. "Holly, what's your estimated completion point?" he demanded.

"Another twenty minutes and we'll have it, sir," answered Colville, not Holly. "The contractor's short, real short."

"You'd better have it!" Kneale snarled in a whisper.

He raised and smoothed his voice to say, "Ladies and gentlemen? I've just been in touch with the authorities here on Biscay. They hope to have the problem squared away in twenty minutes, but it certainly won't be sooner than that. If any of you would like to wait in your rooms or the lounges, I'll be making a general announcement just as soon as we're allowed to open the ship."

There were groans and sighs from the crowd. A few people actually turned and left the hall.

Kneale took a deep breath. The trouble was that almost none of the First and Cabin Class passengers had Biscay as a final destination. These folk simply wanted to get off and view the sights. They didn't have to worry about luggage and all the other normal delays of disembarking.

On the other hand, more than eighty percent of the Empress of Earth's forty-two hundred Third Class passengers were on Biscay at least until they'd served out their labor contracts. Many years before, there'd been a nasty incident when emigrants from the King Wiglaf saw their new home for the first time—and the main gangplank was lowered, with only a few surprised crewmen to try to halt the stampede back aboard the starliner. Mind, the wealthy, privileged folk here in the Embarkation Hall weren't going to spend long on sightseeing themselves. Thirty seconds of Biscay was a bellyful for most people. . . .