Over the cabin ’phone, Ann’s voice wascrisp with anger. “Mr. Lord, I must see youat once.”
“Of course, Ann.” Lord tried not tosound uncordial. It was all part of a tradeagent’s job, to listen to therecommendations and complaints of the teacher. Butan interview with Ann Howard was always soarduous, so stiff with unrelieved righteousness.“I should be free until—”
“Can you come down to the schoolroom, Mr.Lord?”
“If it’s necessary. But I told youyesterday, there’s nothing we can do to makethem take the lessons.”
“I understand your point of view, Mr.Lord.” Her words were barely civil, brittleshafts of ice. “However, this concerns Don;he’s gone.”
“Gone? Where?”
“Jumped ship.”
“Are you sure, Ann? How long ago?”
“I rather imagined you’d beinterested,” she answered with smugsatisfaction. “Naturally you’ll wantto see his note. I’ll be waiting foryou.”
The ’phone clicked decisively as she brokethe connection. Impotent fury lashed Lord’smind—anger at Don Howard, because the engineerwas one of his key men; and, childishly, anger atDon’s sister because she was the one who hadbroken the news. If it had come from almost anyoneelse it would, somehow, have seemed lessdisastrous. Don’s was the fourth desertionin less than a week, and the loss of trainedpersonnel was becoming serious aboard the Ceres.But what did Ann Howard expect Lord to do aboutit? This was[Page 8]a trading ship; he had no military authority over his crew.
As Lord stood up, his desk chair collapsed with aquiet hiss against the cabin wall, and, on greasedtubes, the desk dropped out of sight beneath thebunk bed, giving Lord the luxury of an unclutteredfloor space eight feet square. He had the onlyprivate quarters on the ship—the usualdistinction reserved for a trade agent in command.
From a narrow wardrobe, curved to fit theprojectile walls of the ship, Lord took alightweight jacket, marked with the tooledshoulder insignia of command. He smiled a littleas he put it on. He was Martin Lord, trade agentand heir to the fabulous industrial-trading empireof Hamilton Lord, Inc.; yet he was afraid to faceAnn Howard without the visible trappings ofauthority.
He descended the spiral stairway to the midshipairlock, a lead-walled chamber directly above thelong power tubes of the Ceres. The lock doorhung open, making an improvised landing porchfifty feet above the charred ground. Lord pausedfor a moment at the head of the runged landingladder. Below him, in the clearing where the shiphad come down, he saw the rows of plastic prefabswhich his crew had thrown up—laboratories,sleeping quarters, a kitchen, and AnnHoward’s schoolroom.
Beyond the clearing was the edge of themagnificent forest which covered so much of t