We turned our heads and looked at Spartan's angry face. Then I noticed that he was wearing something new—a holster, holding a nickel-plated air pistol. A kid's toy.
"Stand up!" Spartan said, his hand on the pistol butt.
For a moment I wondered if Gail had been right, that Spartan was capable of going in for a little capital punishment to pass the boring hours in space. Morrie and I got to our feet.
"Those things—" Spartan nodded his head toward the cards. "—are strictly against regulations. If you have time on your hands, you should use the projector and study the scientific works aboard. We can't allow foolishness."
"Damnit, Doctor," I said, "all work and no play is going to turn this crew into a dull bunch of astronauts."
"Nonsense," said Spartan. "I forbid card playing. We're not on the earth any more. We're in space. Beyond terrestrial law. Beyond any standards and regulations that exist on our planet. We are, in effect, another world—and I rule this world. What I say is law and must be obeyed."
Morrie stared at him, open-mouthed. But I had been warned about what to expect from Spartan. After all, he'd said about the same thing to Gail. "We're not questioning your authority, sir," I said. "And what we were doing was very innocent."
"I'm the best judge of that. Give me the cards, Grover."
Morrie hesitated, his face registering uncertainty.
Spartan drew the gun. "This is an air pistol," he said, his manner imperious, his tone hard and relentless. "You understand the danger of a pistol aboard this craft. A bullet might puncture the walls or damage machinery. So I shoot a small dart which is impregnated with a mild, but very effective, poison. It will paralyze a man in a few seconds. Even a scratch on the skin will make you harmless. I can quell any sort of mutiny."