Eric showered and got into bed, but although he was tired he could not fall asleep. He had expected to be an efficiency expert of sorts; that was his job; but they told him, matter-of-factly, that he would be a king. Well, you could expect change in nearly two hundred years, radical change. And if indeed their tradition were deep-rooted, he would not try to change it. The planners had counted on that to keep them going, because there could be no environmental challenge to goad them. Just an unreal past and an unreal Earth which Eric and their great-great-grandparents had seen, and an even more unreal future when, someday far far off, the ship reached the Centaurian System.
Softly, someone knocked at his door. The sound had been there for many moments, a gentle tapping, but it had not registered on his consciousness. Now, when it did, he padded across the bare floor and opened the door.
A girl stepped in from the corridor, pushing him before her with one hand, motioning him to silence with the other. She closed the door softly behind her, soundlessly almost, and turned to face him.
She wore the knee-length tunic popular with this generation, and it covered a graceful feminine figure.
"Please," the girl said. "Please listen to me, Eric Taine. I may have only a few moments—listen!"
"Sure," he smiled. "But why all the mystery?"
"Shh! Let me talk. Have you a weapon?"
"Yes, I carry a pistol. I don't fancy I'll need it, though."
"Well, take it with you and go back where you came. If anyone tries to stop you, use your weapon. They have nothing like it. Then, when you get there—" Her voice came breathlessly, and it made Eric laugh.