"Well, you lie down anyhow and let's talk about things." Sam lowered himself obediently and Daneshaw went on. "First I want to know if you're in any trouble? Had a row with anybody? Think you've done something you wish you hadn't?"
"Well ... no."
"Good. Now what's your job on board and what do you do after we land?"
"Just a kitchen helper here. When we get there, I'll run the control panels for some remotracs—planting and harvesting, you know."
"Not a very exciting set of jobs. How's the kitchen."
The slender man bristled, looked less frail. "They don't like the way I peel wathros. Mrs. Kaplan says I peel all the vitamins off. She says you can't trust a man with a peeler anyhow," he added fiercely. "And I hate wathros no matter how you peel them!"
Tim sighed.
"You're in a rut, Sam. You've worn out that job. And you and Mrs. Kaplan are evidently wearing out each other. Do you want to change jobs?"
"Oh, I don't know. I don't mean anything against Mrs. Kaplan. She does a good piece of work."
"So should you, and wathro peeling's not necessarily it." Tim mused for a moment. "Are you sure the doc didn't say anything about your staying in bed?"