It wasn’t really as bad as they pretended; indeed, the odor of ammonia was hardly noticeable. But it made a good griping point.
The inner door opened at last, and the men straggled through.
“G’night, Chief,” said Mike the Angel.
“Night, sir,” said Multhaus. “See you in the morning.”
“Yeah. Night.” Mike trudged toward the companionway that led toward the wardroom. If Keku or Jeffers happened to be there, he’d have a quick round of Ŭma ni tō. Jeffers called the game “double solitaire for three people,” and Keku said it meant “horses’ two heads,” but Mike had simply found it as a new game to play before bedtime.
He looked forward to it.
But he had something else to do first.
Instead of hanging up his suit in the locker provided, he had bunched it under his arm—except for the helmet—and now he headed toward maintenance.
He met Ensign Vaneski just coming out, and gave him a broad smile. “Mister Vaneski, I got troubles.”
Vaneski smiled back worriedly. “Yes, sir. I guess we all do. What is it, sir?”