The outer door was closed behind them, the tube had fallen away; now the inner door slid open. Welcome to my Nightflyer, said a mellow voice from within.
But there was no one there.
Melantha Jhirl stepped into the corridor. Hello, she said, looking about quizzically. Karoly dBranin followed her.
Hello, the mellow voice replied. It was coming from a communicator grill beneath a darkened viewscreen. This is Royd Eris, master of the Nightflyer. Im pleased to see you again, Karoly, and pleased to welcome the rest of you.
Where are you? someone demanded.
In my quarters, which occupy half of this life-support sphere, the voice of Royd Eris replied amiably. The other half is comprised of a lounge-library-kitchen, two sanitary stations, one double cabin, and a rather small single. The rest of you will have to rig sleepwebs in the cargo spheres, Im afraid. The Nightflyer was designed as a trader, not a passenger vessel. However, Ive opened all the appropriate passageways and locks, so the holds have air and heat and water. I thought youd find it more comfortable that way. Your equipment and computer system have been stowed in the holds, but there is still plenty of space, I assure you. I suggest you settle in, and then meet in the lounge for a meal.
Will you join us? asked the psipsych, a querulous hatchet-faced woman named Agatha Marij-Black.
In a fashion, Royd Eris said, in a fashion.
The ghost appeared at the banquet.
They found the lounge easily enough, after they had rigged their sleepwebs and arranged their personal belongings around their sleeping quarters. It was the largest room in this section of the ship. One end of it was a fully equipped kitchen, well stocked with provisions. The opposite end offered several comfortable chairs, two readers, a holotank, and a wall of books and tapes and crystal chips. In the center was a long table with places set for ten.
A light meal was hot and waiting. The academicians helped themselves and took seats at the table, laughing and talking to each other, more at ease now than when they had boarded. The ships gravity grid was on, which went a long way towards making them more comfortable; the queasy awkwardness of their weightless transit was soon forgotten.
Finally all the seats were occupied except for one at the head of the table.
The ghost materialized there.
All
conservation stopped.
Hello, said the spectre, the bright shade of a lithe, pale-eyed young man with white hair. He was dressed in clothing twenty years out of date; a loose blue pastel shirt that ballooned at his wrists, clinging white trousers with built-in boots. They could see through him, and his own eyes did not see them at all.
A hologram, said Alys Northwind, the short, stout xenotech.
Royd, Royd, I do not understand, said Karoly dBranin, staring at the ghost. What is this? Why do you send us a projection? Will you not join us in person?
The ghost smiled faintly and lifted an arm. My quarters are on the other side of that wall, he said. Im afraid there is no door or lock between the two halves of the sphere. I spend most of my time by myself, and I value my privacy. I hope you will all understand, and respect my wishes. I will be a gracious host nonetheless. Here in the lounge my projection can join you. Elsewhere, if you have anything you need, if you want to talk to me, just use a communicator. Now, please resume your meal, and your conversations. Ill gladly listen. Its been a long time since I had passengers.
They tried. But the ghost at the head of the table cast a long shadow, and the meal was strained and hurried.
From the hour the Nightflyer slipped into stardrive, Royd Eris watched his passengers.
Within a few days most of the academicians had grown accustomed to the disembodied voice from the communicators and the holographic spectre in the lounge, but only Melantha Jhirl and Karoly dBranin ever seemed really comfortable in his presence. The others would have been even more uncomfortable if they had known that Royd was always with them. Always and everywhere, he watched. Even in the sanitary stations, Royd had eyes and ears.
He watched them work, eat, sleep, copulate; he listened untiringly to their talk. Within a week he knew them, all nine, and had begun to ferret out their tawdry little secrets.
The cyberneticist, Lommie Thorne, talked to her computers and seemed to prefer their company to that of humans. She was bright and quick, with a mobile, expressive face and a small hard boyish body; most of the others found her attractive, but she did not like to be touched. She sexed only once, with Melantha Jhirl. Lommie Thorne wore shirts of softly woven metal, and had an implant in her left wrist that let her interface directly with her computers.
The xenobiologist, Rojan Christopheris, was a surly, argumentative man, a cynic whose contempt for his colleagues was barely kept in check, a solitary drinker. He was tall and stooped and ugly.
The two linguists, Dannel and Lindran, were lovers in public, constantly holding hands and supporting each other. In private they quarreled bitterly. Lindran had a mordant wit and liked to wound Dannel where it hurt the most, with jokes about his professional competence. They sexed often, both of them, but not with each other.