Poul Anderson - Tau Zero

“What the devil’s going on here?”

Reymont turned. Norbert Williams must have heard them, the door being ajar, and come in from the pool, because the chemist was nude and wet. He was also furious. “You’ve gotten to bullying women, huh?” he said. “Not even big women. Scram.”

Reymont stood where he was. “We have regulations about these boxes,” he said. “If a person hasn’t the self-discipline to obey them, I have to compel.”

“Yah! Snooping, peering, shoving your nose up our privacy — by God, I’m not going to stand for it any longer!”

“Don’t,” Glassgold implored. “Don’t fight. I’m sorry. I will go.”

“Like hell you will,” the American answered, “Stay. Insist on your rights.” His features burned crimson. “I’ve had a bellyful of this little tin Jesus, and now’s the time to do something about him.”

Reymont said, spacing his words: “The regulation limiting use wasn’t written for fun, Dr. Williams. Too much is worse than none. It becomes addictive. The end result is insanity.”

“Listen.” The chemist made an obvious effort to curb his wrath. “People aren’t identical. You may think we can be stretched and trimmed to fit your pattern — you and your dragooning us into calisthenics, your arranging work details that a baby could see aren’t for anything except to keep us busy a few hours a day, your smashing the still that Pedro Barrios built — your whole petty dictatorship, ever since we veered off on this Flying Dutchman chase—” He lowered his volume. “Listen,” he said. “Those regulations. Like here. They’re written to make sure nobody gets an overdose. Of course. But how do you know that some of us are getting enough? We’ve all got to spend time in the boxes. You too, Constable Iron Man. You too.”

“Certainly—” Reymont was interrupted:

“How can you tell how much another guy may need? You don’t have the sensitivity God gave a cockroach. Do you know one mucking thing about Emma? I do. I know she’s a fine, courageous woman … perfectly well able to judge her own necessities and guide herself … she doesn’t need you to run her life for her.” Williams pointed. “There’s the door. Use it.”

“Norbert, don’t.” Glassgold climbed from the casket and tried to go between the men. Reymont eased her aside and answered Williams:

“If exceptions are to be made, the ship’s physician is the person to determine them. Not you. She has to see Dr. Latvala anyway, after this. She can ask him for a medical authorization.”

“I know how far she’ll get with him. That louse won’t even issue tranquilizers.”

“We’ve years ahead of us. Unforeseeable troubles to outlive. If we start getting dependent on pacifiers—”

“Did you ever think without some such help, we’ll go crazy and die? We’ll decide for ourselves, thank you. Get out, I said!”

Glassgold sought again to intervene. Reymont had to seize her by the arms to move her.

“ Take your hands off her, you swine! ” Williams charged with both fists flailing.

Reymont released Glassgold and drifted back, into the hall where room for maneuvering was available. Williams yelped and followed. Reymont guarded himself against the inexpert blows until, after a minute, he sprang. A karate flurry and two strokes sent Williams to the deck. He huddled, retching. Blood dripped from his nose.

Glassgold wailed and ran to him. She knelt, pulled him close, glared up at Reymont. “Aren’t you brave?” she spat.

The constable spread his palms. “Was I supposed to let him hit me?”

“You c-c-could have left.”

“Impossible. My duty is to maintain order on board. Until Captain Telander relieves me, I’ll continue to do so.”

“Very well,” Glassgold said between her teeth. “We are going to him. I am lodging a formal complaint.”

Reymont shook his head. “It was explained and agreed on when this situation developed, the skipper mustn’t be bothered with our bickerings. He has to think of the ship.”

Williams groaned his way back toward full consciousness.

“We will see First Officer Lindgren,” Reymont said. “I have to file charges against both of you.”

Glassgold compressed her lips. “As you wish.”

“Not Lin’gren,” Williams mouthed. “Lin’gren an’ him, they was—”

“No longer,” Glassgold said. “She couldn’t stand any more of him, even before the accident. She will be fair.” With her help, Williams got dressed and limped to the command deck.

Several people saw the group pass and started to ask what had happened. Reymont snapped them into silence. The looks they returned were sullen. At the first intercom call box, he dialed Lindgren and requested her to be in the interview room.

It was minuscule but soundproof, a place for confidential hearings and necessary humiliations. Lindgren sat behind the desk. She had donned a uniform. The fluoropanel spilled light onto her frost-blond hair; the voice in which she bade Reymont commence, after they were all seated, was equally cold.

He gave a terse account of the incident. “I charge Dr. Glassgold with violation of a hygienic rule,” he finished, “and Dr. Williams with assault on a peace officer.”

“Mutiny?” Lindgren inquired. Dismay sprang forth on Williams.

“No, madame. Assault will suffice,” Reymont said. To the chemist: “Consider yourself lucky. We can’t psychologically afford a trial, which a charge of mutiny would bring. Not unless you persist in this kind of behavior.”

“That will do, Constable,” Lindgren clipped. “Dr. Glassgold, will you give me your version?”

Anger still upbore the biologist. “I plead guilty to the violation as alleged,” she declared firmly, “but I am asking for a review of my case — of everybody’s case — as provided by the articles. Not Dr. Latvala’s sole judgment; a board of officers and my colleagues. As for the fight, Norbert was intolerably provoked, and he was made the victim of sheer viciousness.”

“Your statement, Dr. Williams?”

“I don’t know how I stand under your fool reg—” The American checked himself. “Pardon me, ma’m,” he said, a trifle thickly through his puffed lips. “I never did memorize space law. I thought common sense and good will would see us through. Reymont may be technically in the right, but I’ve had about my limit of his brass-headed interference.”

“Then, Dr. Glassgold, Dr. Williams, are you willing to abide by my sentence? You are entitled to a trial if you desire it.”

Williams achieved a lopsided smile. “Matters are bad enough already, ma’m. I suppose this has to go in the log, but maybe it doesn’t have to go in the whole crew’s ears.”

“Oh yes,” Glassgold breathed. She caught Williams’ hand.

Reymont opened his mouth. “You are under my authority, Constable,” Lindgren intercepted him. “You may, of course, appeal to the captain.”

“No, madame,” Reymont answered.

“Well, then.” Lindgren leaned back. Her countenance thawed. “I order accusations on every side of this case dropped — or, rather, never be filed. This is not to be entered on any record. Let us talk the problem out as among human beings who are all in, shall I say, the same boat.”

“Him too?” Williams jerked a thumb at Reymont.

“We must have law and discipline, you know,” Lindgren said mildly. “Without them, we die. Perhaps Constable Reymont gets overzealous. Or perhaps not. In any event, he is the single police and military specialist we have. If you dissent from him … that’s what I’m here for. Do relax. I’ll send for coffee.”

“If the first officer pleases,” Reymont said, “I’ll excuse myself.”

“No, we have things to say to you,” Glassgold snapped.