He particularly enjoyed it after Girard Burke was assigned to his seminar. Matt would lie in wait until Girard would express some definite opinion, then jump him-always with a question; never with a statement. For some reason not clear to Matt, Burke's opinions were always orthodox; to attack them Matt was forced to do some original thinking.
But he asked Burke about it after class one day. "See here, Burke-I thought you were the bird with a new slant on everything?"
"Well, maybe I am. What about it?"
"You don't sound like it in 'Doubt.' "
Burke looked wise. "You don't catch me sticking my neck out."
"What do you mean?"
"Do you think our dear superiors are really interested in your bright ideas? Won't you ever learn to recognize a booby trap, son?"
Matt thought about it. "I think you're crazy." Nevertheless he chewed it over.
The days rolled past. The pace was so hard that there was little time to be bored. Matt shared the herd credo of all cadets that the Randolph was a madhouse, unfit for human habitation, sky junk, etc., etc.-but in fact he had no opinion of his own about the school ship; he was too busy. At first he had had some acute twinges of homesickness; thereafter it seemed to recede. There was nothing but the treadmill of study, drill, more study, laboratory, sleep, eat, and study again.
He was returning from the communications office, coming off watch late one night, when he heard sounds from Pete's cubicle. At first he thought Pete must be running his projector, studying late. He was about to bang on his door and suggest going up to the galley to wheedle a cup of cocoa when he became convinced that the sound was not a projector.