"Well, something like this. We're seeking to destroy effects, not causes. Whatever the causes are, we should root them out first."
"The Mutant-maker and his government are the cause."
"No. I mean deeper than that. I mean—oh, I don't know! But something hovers in the background; I can feel it. A cause, a deepseated cause apart from any mutant-non-mutant bickering...."
Ker-jon stood up, smiling. "Don't mind her," he said. "Cluny-ann isn't happy unless she can worry, I think. Now, my job is this: at ten hours I lock myself in control in the 'ponics room, and if necessary, we can hold that as a sword over any ornery heads. I'll be ready to cut off the air-supply to any section of the Ark that needs such treatment, Flam-harol."
The big ridge-head nodded. "That appears to be it, then. Till tomorrow, when I hope to meet you all again at noon...."
2
Ker-jon felt very refreshed when he awoke. The dream had failed to appear; consequently, he slept well. He wondered idly if the psych-tech, Ab'nath, had decided anything yet. Actually, Ker-jon now regarded his visit to the psych-tech's office as a little on the impulsive side. He knew how the technicians worked, should thus have expected at least a twenty-four hour delay. Still, just depositing the spool with the psych-tech had relieved him considerably, and surely no harm could come of it.
He showered, shaved, glanced at the wall-chronometer. Nine. One to go—
So—in just three hours—it all would be over. By then they'd have gained control of the ship, or their martyred corpses would start on their eternal flight through space. If a third alternative presented itself, Ker-jon failed to consider it.