“We heard you,” came a voice from just outside the lounge, and, a second later, Bob Vickers appeared, climbing hand-over-hand against the slight pull of the acceleration that managed to seep through the not-quite-perfect guard of the contracels. He pulled himself into the lounge and turned back, extending a hand to Fred Marquis, who followed him in.
The two glared at Nick with injured expressions. “So this,” stated Vickers sadly, “is how you refer to your loyal aides behind their backs.” He turned to Marquis: “Colleague, we may as well tear up that paper and save ourselves further humiliation.”
Dorothy Gilbert closed her book with a snap. “Far be it from me to poke my pretty nose into your little brawls, but haven’t you two been rather long in getting the data?”
Marquis made a sweeping bow. “Fair lady,” he replied softly, “I appeal to your innate sense of justice and fair play. Did or did not our noble captain, on two occasions, call us all away from our gruelling labor to strain our ears trying to hear an alleged distress signal?”
Dorothy laughed gaily, shaking her hair away from her forehead. “Indeed, our noble captain did. Not only was your invaluable time wasted, but mine as well. I was rechecking the course and had to start from scratch after the interruption.”
“My lady is as gracious as she is charming,” bowed Vickers. He faced Nick. “We will be generous, sir, and accept your apology.”
“The ship’s company,” sighed Nick, “is reminded that the original Hartnett expedition was not entirely lost. It is to be assumed that they are still trying to contact someone, us in particular. Thus the careful attention to what appeared to be distress signals.
“Now may I suggest that you save your precious time by letting me know what you found?”
“That,” murmured Marquis to Vickers, “is as close to an apology as he’ll ever get.”