Holloway leaned forward. "I'll tell you what's in the log. Every word of it. If I just sit here waiting—"
Mason laid a hand on his knee. "It's all right, old chap. I won't let you go to sleep. You and I will talk while Mr. Kennedy goes through the log. It won't take long."
Mason handed the book to Kennedy. He was almost apologetic. "It's a strange log, sir, It—"
"Strange?" Kennedy frowned. Logs had no right to be strange. There were regulations—rules stating exactly how a log should be kept.
"Well sir, the lad is young. His first trip. I just meant there's perhaps a little more in the log than should appear there."
"We'll see," Kennedy said. There was a slight frost on his words. If disciplinary measures were in the offing it would pay not to get too cozy with Holloway and the Resident.
Kennedy opened the log. The first entry was dated June 3rd, 4:10 p. m. Earth time. Kennedy frowned. Permissible of course, but sloppy, very sloppy. The better skippers computed from Orion immediately after blast-off. Kennedy set back and began to read:
June 3rd, 4:10 p. m.
We blasted at 2:18 p. m. A good getaway. Course 58.329 by the polar angle. No blast sickness among the passengers. They are old hands. I put the automatic board into control at 3:50 p. m. I checked the tubes. Pressures balanced and equal.
I don't like this cruise. I don't like Murdo. He's a domineering slob. The other four, well—Keebler is an alcoholic, Kelvey an empty-headed opportunist. I don't particularly dislike them. They're just a worthless pair who would rather fawn on Murdo and take his insults than work for a living. The two wives are both young. Martha Keebler has a child's mind in a woman's body. Jane Kelvey is an oversexed witch with an indecent exposure complex. I may have trouble with her. Already she's parading around in skimpy shorts and a bra. Evidently Murdo doesn't care for women. He pays no attention to her. Money and power are his dish. And a terrible restlessness.