William Forstchen - Into the Sea of Stars

And suddenly she no longer had to think of how to respond to Ian. Her only concern now was to find enough towels to start cleaning up her thoroughly besotten pro fessor.

"Yes, Dr. Redding, of course."

He tried to back out of the cramped middle cabin, but the laws of zero G tricked him. His arms flailing like berserk windmill sails, Richard Croce spun across the room, slapped into the wall, then ricocheted back toward Ellen Redding, who didn't hesitate for one second with her high-speed outpouring of vitriolic abuse.

"Damn it, woman, help me." Richard groaned as he did a slow rolling dive straight at her bulging midsection.

Grabbing hold of a support railing, Ellen gently pulled herself out of Richard's dive-bomb approach. He drifted past her and smacked into the opposite wall of the cabin, this time face first, but his outstretched hands grabbed a padded rail and prevented another pinball-like trajectory.

"Now, Dr. Croce, if you've stopped your acrobatic display of zero-gravity ineptitude, I would like to sum marize my argument."

"Damn it, Ellen, I can't do anything about it."

"Dr. Redding to you, Doctor Croce." There was a sar castic edge to how she said Dr. Croce- as if the linking of the two words were somehow impossible.

"All right, Dr. Redding," Richard replied coldly, "I'll remember your title." The rest of the sentence started to form but he thought better of it. He viewed doctorates in sociology and collective psychology as having the same validity as a doctorate in physical education or school administration.

"Thank you"-she hesitated for a moment, and then smiled icily-"Doctor."

He took several deep breaths in a vain attempt to calm himself, then decided to start in again. "And another thing, Captain Leminski stated that our gross weight is a hundred and twenty kilos over." He eyed her bulging form sarcastically, and she started to color into a deeper shade of purple that went beyond the flaming red of her hair.

"I know where we can dump off that weight right now," she replied evenly.

"I don't see anything coming off your manifest."

"Because it doesn't need to."

"A hundred and fifty kilos of survey forms in triplicate! You call that necessary!" Richard shouted.

"Dr. Croce, I've already explained to you that I've been sent on this expedition by our Chancellor to gather important data. The best way for a sociologist and col lective psychologist to gather information is through ob servation and survey."

"You don't even know if they'll be able to read the damn things. Did you get your precious forms translated into Old English or Japanese or Russian? Well, did you?"

"There is no need of that. I'm sure your good friend Ian will be able to translate for us."

The loathing she put into the word Ian was almost frightening in its intensity. The faculty battles between Ian Lacklin and Ellen Redding were near legend. Richard pitied poor Ian when he came aboard.

"Dr. Redding, I'm sure the Chancellor doesn't give a good damn about these so-called Lost Colonies. Personally, I think this whole charade is nothing more than a hairbrained move on the Chancellor's part to get rid of his most embarrassing tenured faculty."

"Now, Croce, you-"

"Dr. Croce, to you."

Boiling with anger, Ellen stumbled for a response, and Richard pushed on.

"If-and I say, if-we find these colonies, I think Ian will have more to do with his time than to translate your half-witted sociological surveys to a bunch of people who most likely won't want to be surveyed in the first place. Therefore, my dear doctor, I think it only logical that your damn bloody forms should be heaved out right now."

"If anything is to be heaved, it should be those ten cases of alleged surgical and sterilization equipment." A smug smile lit up her pudgy face, and she laughed mali ciously. "Besides, Doctor, a half hour ago I managed to put one of those cases through the airlock."

"You bitch! Do you know how hard it was to get that gin up here! " His voice trailed off into incoherent screams. One-tenth of his liquor, gone! Three years for this damned mission, and only nine cases to see him through! Richard barely heard Leminski shout over the intercom about a ship's docking alongside as he launched himself through the air toward Ellen.

The hatch behind them opened. A green face peered through. "Oh, my God." Ian groaned.

"Ah, Ian, old friend," Richard shouted, as he drifted within striking distance of Ellen, "you're just in time to witness the effect of zero gravity on blubber."

"Why, you pickled sot-"

"Enough! I've had enough!" A wiry form in blue cov eralls pushed through the doorway behind Ian.

"Ah, Ian," Richard said with sudden cheer, " meet our pilot and guide through the universe, Stasz Leminski."

Ian extended his hand, but Stasz ignored him.

"I have my orders," Stasz whispered in a sharp, hissing voice. His five-and-a-half-foot, hundred-pound frame seemed to be a coiled bundle of energy ready to explode in violent rage at any second.

"The problem is simple. We need to dump one hundred and twenty kilos. You must decide which one hundred and twenty kilos within twenty-three hours. Antimatter ignition sequencing will start in twenty-six hours. If by three hours before departure you have not dumped the excess mass, I will do it for you."

Grabbing hold of a handrail, he turned himself about as if getting set to leave.

"Ah, Leminski, I don't think you quite understand," Ellen Redding said. She spoke with the pedantic style typical of a professor addressing an idiot or a first-year university student.

"I understand perfectly, Miss Redding." He smiled a tight wolfish grin as she stiffened to the form of address. "You see, Miss Redding, I am the craft pilot and engineer, therefore I am responsible for the function of this wreck which the Confederation has pawned off on you… well, never mind that. As I was saying, when it comes to the function of this vessel, I am in control."

Pushing off, he floated back down the corridor.

Ellen turned on Ian, who quailed at the sight of his old nemesis. But before she could speak, Stasz's voice drifted back to them. "By the way, Dr. Redding, I'm declaring that Croce's 'surgical supplies' are now part of my ship's maintenance stores, therefore they are not to be touched. Dr. Lacklin, I'd suggest that those damned forms get dumped right now. Heaven knows how I hate forms; in fact, I've already got eighty kilos' worth in the airlock." He laughed sardonically and disappeared into the forward control room.

Sensing an impending explosion, Richard pushed past Ellen and mumbled an excuse about checking his equipment. As he drifted by Ian, his nose wrinkled at the sour smell.

"Good luck, old boy," Richard whispered.

"If I'd known that she was going to be aboard, I'd have stayed home in spite of the Chancellor," Ian whispered in reply. "Writing grants would be heaven compared to this."

"I heard that, Ian."

Richard grabbed Shelley's arm and pushed her out the hatch, abandoning Ian to what Richard told her would be "a friendly Social Science Departmental Meeting."

The shouting between the two old rivals filled the ship until Stasz finally called it to halt and begged for a little sleep before departure.

"I thought it essential that we all sit down together before departure and briefly review what we can expect." Ian was trying to speak with an authoritative voice, but it came out more as a strangled croak. He and Ellen Redding had had such a knock-down drag out over who was in control of the mission that he had actually shouted himself hoarse. He looked across at her and tried a wan smile, but from her response it must have looked to her to be a threatening grimace. Nevertheless she said noth ing; his halfhearted threat to call the Chancellor and resign over her presence, for the moment at least, had been the lever to submission.