“I can’t get it, sir,” said Messenger. “I can only make out that there is a transmission. They’re beaming it away from us, by subspace radio.”
“They don’t need …” Brixby began, and then kicked himself mentally and nodded. Radio was always directional, but subspace radio particularly. If a way had not been found to keep 99.99+ per cent of the power in a tight beam, subspace radio would have been prohibitively expensive in power.
“You’re sure the beam’s aimed at Persephone Beta?”
“No, sir, I’m not sure,” said Messenger frankly. “How can I be sure? All I know is that it looks that way.”
“My fault,” said Brixby. “I should have placed us directly between them and Beta. Then they couldn’t do that.”
“And then we couldn’t make for Alpha, sir. You’ve got to pick one or the other. One thing I am sure of — there’s no answer.”
“There wouldn’t be. The Tinkers have never answered anybody yet. And they’re bound to suspect this is a trick.”
“Captain,” murmured Faith, drawing him slightly aside, “so far I’ve been on your side, and I still am, but maybe I’ll have to kick you in the teeth. Look, all of us depend on you. All of us here and for that matter all those poor people on the other side of that door at the mercy of a few crazy mutineers. Captain, you’ve got to do what’s right for all of us.”
He smiled faintly. “Do you think I’m not going to try?”
“Well, for instance — maybe your primary duty, your ego aside, is to ensure the safety of your ship and your passengers and not be a hero or a martyr. You were told to use this ship to make a gesture, and you tried. But the scheme already came unstuck. You don’t control the fate of a single one of your passengers except me. The mutineers may be lining the rest up and shooting them — ”
“No. They’re not space-rats, they’re — ”
“They’re desperate men, that’s what they are. Even I know the maximum penalty for mutiny in space is still death. They’ve already lost their heads. They could do it again.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Delman.”
“For what? And my name is Faith.”
“You’re right, of course. My ego, as you put it, my professional pride doesn’t matter. I’ve got to surrender to these mutineers.”
“I wasn’t going as far as that — ”
“What else is it?”
He tried to give in. And failed.
Neill repeated: “We’ve got to get Seburg’s backing, captain. I told you that already. I know you’d say anything.”
“Wait half an hour, Neill. I’m going to talk to Seburg. On the open wave. You can listen.”
He talked. He went down on his knees.
Seburg was adamant. Nothing could be accepted from mutineers, naval or civilian, but unconditional surrender.
Afterwards, Brixby called Neill, and got him almost at once. Neill said right away: “You can save your breath, ex-Captain Brixby. We’re leaving.”
Some of those who heard this gasped or swore — the chief, his engineers, the crewman — and others, like Faith and the girls, merely looked blank.
“We have to take the passengers,” said Neill. “It’s that or space for them. Goodbye, ex-captain. It hasn’t been nice knowing you.”
“Neill, wait …”
But the conversation was broken. A moment later, so was the ship.