He fell back on his pillow, breathless.
Cimon, from the door, said, “And by the way, Sheffield, the penalty for inciting mutiny on board ship is death!”
Well, it was a kind of trial, Sheffield thought grimly. Nobody was following accurate legal procedure, but then, the psychologist felt certain, no one knew the accurate legal procedure, least of all the captain.
They were using the large assembly room where, on ordinary cruises, the crew got together to watch subetheric broadcasts. At this time, the crew was rigidly excluded, though all the scientific personnel were present.
Captain Follenbee sat behind a desk just underneath the subetheric reception cube. Sheffield and Mark Annuncio sat by themselves at his left, faces toward him.
The captain was not at ease. He alternated between informal exchanges with the various “witnesses” and sudden super-judicial blasts against whispering among the spectators.
Sheffield and Mark, having met one another in the “courtroom” for the first time since the flight of the aircoaster, shook hands solemnly on the former’s initiative. Mark had hung back at first, looking up briefly at the crisscross of tape still present on the shaven patch on Sheffield’s skull.
“I’m sorry, Dr. Sheffield. I’m very sorry.”
“It’s all right, Mark. How have they been treating you?”
“All right, I guess.”