Ignoring Lesbee's dumbfounded reaction, he went on, 'Our problem is to make sure that we don't do anything that might arouse suspicion. That means everybody, including you, should carry on as always. What do you normally do when you leave the bridge?'

'I go to my quarters and wash up,' said Lesbee, truthfully.

He was beginning to recover from the enormous shock of the other man's pronouncement. He grew aware that he was in a state of anguish, and that amazingly what he felt was an awful anxiety that 'these fools' – he muttered the words under his breath – would somehow mess up their mutiny, and this mad voyage would continue on into infinity. As he realized his instant sympathy with the rebels, Lesbee swallowed, and abruptly felt confused.

Before he could recover, Ganarette said reluctantly, 'All right – but I'll go with you.'

'Maybe it'd be better if I skipped going home,' said Lesbee doubtfully.

'And have your father become suspicious! Nothing doing!'

Lesbee was uneasy. He was, he realized, falling in with the plot. He sensed unknown dangers in that direction. Yet the emotion that had broken through from a hidden depth of his being, was still driving him on. He said in a conspiratorial tone, 'That would be preferable to having him wonder what I'm doing with you. He doesn't like you.'

'Oh, he doesn't!' Ganarette sounded belligerent, but suddenly he looked unsure of himself. 'All right, we'll go straight down to the theater. But remember what I said. Watch yourself. Be as surprised as the others, but be prepared to step in and take command.'

He impulsively put his hand on Lesbee's arm. 'We've got to win,' he said. 'My God, we've got to.'

As they went down into the ship a minute later, Lesbee found that he was somehow tightening his muscles, bracing himself as for a struggle.

Lesbee sank into his seat. As he sat there, he grew aware that all around him in the theater, people were fumbling their way to their places. He had time for doubt, for second thought. If he was going to do anything, he would have to act swiftly.

Ganarette, who had been in the aisle whispering to another young man, crushed into the seat beside him. He leaned toward Lesbee. 'Only a few minutes now, as soon as everybody is in. When the doors close, we'll let the lights go off and the picture get started. Then in the darkness I'll make my way to the stage. The moment the lights go on, you join me.'

Lesbee nodded, but he was unhappy. Only a short time had gone by since the great rush of sympathy for the rebellion, but now that feeling was fading, replaced by an uneasy fear of consequences. He had no conscious picture of what might happen. It was an overall and growing sense of doom.

A buzzer sounded. 'Ah,' whispered Ganarette, 'the picture is going to start.'

The time was passing inexorably. The internal pressure to act was strong in Lesbee. He had a terrible conviction that he was ruining himself with the authority group aboard, and that on the other hand the mutineers merely intended to use him during the early stages of their rebellion, that later he would be discarded. Abruptly, he was convinced that he had nothing to gain by their victory.

In a sudden desperation, he stirred in his seat, and looked around tensely, wondering if he couldn't escape.

He gave that up after one quick look. His eyes had accustomed to the night of the theater and it wasn't really dark at all. Over to one side he could see Third Officer Browne and his wife sitting together. The older man caught his distracted gaze and nodded.

Lesbee grimaced an acknowledging smile, then turned away. Beside him, Ganarette said, 'Where's Carson?'

It was Lesbee's seeking gaze that found First Officer Carson sitting near the back of the theater, and it was he who located the second officer slumped down in one of the seats near the front. Of the senior officers of the ship only Captain Lesbee himself had not yet arrived. That was a little disquieting but Lesbee took assurance from the fact that the theater had its normal packed appearance.

Three times a 'week' there was a show. Three times a week the eight hundred people on the ship gathered in this room and gazed silently at the scenes of far-off Earth that glided over the screen. Seldom did anyone miss the show. His father would be along any minute.

Lesbee settled himself to the inevitability of what was about to happen. On the screen a light flickered, and then there was a burble of music. A voice said something about an 'important trial,' and then there were several panels of printed words and a list of technical experts. At that point Lesbee's mind and gaze wandered back to his father's reserved seat.

It was still empty.

The shock of that was not an ordinary sensation. It was an impact, astonishment mingled with a sense of imminent disaster, the sudden tremendous conviction that his father knew of the plot.

He felt his first disappointment. It was an anguish of bitter emotion, the realization that the trip would go on. His feelings caught him by surprise. He still hadn't realized the depth and intensity of his own frustration aboard this ship, seven thousand and eight hundred days out from Earth. He whirled to word-lash Ganarette for having made such a mess of the plot.

Lips parted, he hesitated. If the rebellion were destined to fail, it wouldn't do to have made a single favorable remark about it. With a sigh he settled back in his seat. The anger passed and he could feel the disappointment fading. Rising in its place was acceptance of the inevitability of the future.

On the screen somebody was standing before a jury and saying,'... the crime of this man is treason. The laws of Earth do not pause inside the stratosphere or at the moon or at Mars-'

Once again the words and the scene couldn't hold Lesbee. His gaze flashed to Captain Lesbee's seat. A sigh escaped from his lips as he saw that his father was in the act of sitting down. So he hadn't really suspected. His late arrival was a meaningless accident.

Within seconds the lights would flash on and the young rebels would take over the ship.

Curiously, now that there was no chance of his doing anything, he was able for the first time to give his attention to the motion picture. It was as if his mind were anxious to escape from the sense of guilt that was beginning to build up inside his body. He looked outside rather than in.

The scene was still a courtroom. A very pale young man was standing before a judge who wore a black cap, and the judge was saying, 'Have you any final words before sentence is pronounced upon you?'

The reply was haltingly delivered: 'Nothing, sir... except we were so far out... It didn't seem as if we had any connection with Earth – After seven years, it just didn't seem possible that the laws of Earth had any meaning -'

It struck Lesbee that the theater was deathly quiet, and that the rebellion was many minutes overdue. It was then as he listened to the final words of the judge that he realized that there would be no rebellion, and why. The judge in that remote Earth court was saying:

'I have no alternative but to sentence you to death... for mutiny.'

It was several hours later when Lesbee made his way to the projection room. 'Hello, Mr. Jonathan,' he said to the slim, middle-aged man who was busily putting away his cans.

Jonathan acknowledged the greeting politely. But his face showed wonder that the captain's son should have sought him out. His expression was a reminder to Lesbee that it didn't pay to neglect any one aboard a ship, not even people you considered unimportant.

'Odd picture you showed there at the beginning,' he said casually.

'Yeah.' The cans were being shoved into their protective cases. 'Kind of surprised me when your dad phoned up and asked me to show it. Very old, you know. From the early days of interplanetary travel.'