The stuff was nothing but pepsin. Plain, ordinary pepsin; a by-product from the outspread Venusian ranches.
I was half minded to chuck the damn stuff away. I thought maybe worry, desperation, had made Biggs slip his gravs. Then I thought better of it. After all, he may have had some reason. And in a spot like this, any gamble was worth taking....
So, slowly, I started getting the stuff distributed around. I managed to slip half the package to Doug Enderby, the steward, with instructions to get it to the black gang. I met Chief Garrity 'tween decks, and gave him some for his engine room crew. Todd took a piece, wondering, reluctant, but put it in his mouth when I signalled him to do so. Me? Sure, I had some, too. After all, it tasted good. And a man might as well check out with a clean taste in his mouth.
The only man I couldn't slip a piece to at any time was Cap Hanson. Runt Hake had the old eagle eye on the Skipper. Matter of fact, Hake had the eagle eye on all of us. He didn't miss a trick, that murderous little squirt. Just before dinner was served he made my heart miss a beat when he asked, "What are you chewing on, Sparks? Gum?"
He gave me the fright and the out at the same time. I nodded. "Yeah," I said. Then, fearful not to ask, "You want a piece?"
He shuddered delicately. "Barbarian custom. I do not want a piece."
Boy, was that a break for our side!
So, like I said, Biggs donged out the dinner call, and we all went into the mess hall. Talk about irony! Here we were, a score of honest, hard-working spacemen and an equal number of pirates, sitting down to the same table, eating the same meal.
Screwy? Sure—but that was Hake for you. As Mr. Biggs had said, he was a show-off. But don't think he took any chances. We were unarmed, his men were walking hardware stores. As for the conviviality of that banquet, that was strictly on the stinko! To outward appearances, we were all palsy-walsy at the banquet table; actually we of the Saturn were being fattened for the slaughter to follow.