“Then why should the crew be afraid of it. I kept thinking about that all the time I was in bed. That’s when I thought of looking at the log. I’d never actually seen one, so it would be a valuable thing to do in any case. And certainly, I thought, I would find the truth there.”
“Uh huh,” said Sheffield.
“And, well—I may have been wrong. In the whole log the purpose of the expedition was never mentioned. Now that wouldn’t be so unless the purpose were secret. It was as if he were even keeping it from the other ship officers. And the name of the ship is given as the George G. Grundy.”
“It would be, of course,” said Sheffield.
“I don’t know. I suspected that business about Triple G,” said Mark, darkly.
Sheffield said, “You seem disappointed that the captain wasn’t lying.”
“Not disappointed. Relieved, I think. I thought… I thought—” He stopped and looked acutely embarrassed, but Sheffield made no effort to rescue him. He was forced to continue, “I thought everyone might be lying to me, not just the captain. Even you might, Dr. Sheffield. I thought you just didn’t want me to talk to the crew for some reason.”
Sheffield tried to smile and managed to succeed. The occupational disease of the Mnemonic Service was suspicion. They were isolated, these Mnemonics, and they were different. Cause and effect were obvious.
Sheffield said lightly, “I think you’ll find in your reading on folk-ways that these superstitions are not necessarily based on logical analysis. A planet which has become notorious has evil expected of it. The good which happens is disregarded; the bad is cried-up, advertised, and exaggerated. The thing snowballs.”
He moved away from Mark. He busied himself with an inspection of the hydraulic chairs. They would be landing soon. He felt unnecessarily along the length of the broad webbing of the straps, keeping his back to the youngster. So protected, he said, almost in a whisper, “And, of course, what makes it worse is that Junior is so different.”