Mary Wiggins was unrolling the hall rug as he emerged. There was a warm rosy color in her cheeks, which quickly faded when she saw his ashen face. "Whatever is wrong?" she demanded.
"The Captain just ordered me to scuttle the Liberty M."
"Oh, no, it'll break his heart!" she cried.
"The Captain seems determined to have his own heart broken," Whitfield said bitterly.
"No, I don't mean him. I mean Josey . . . Briggs." Her face was scarlet.
"I know," Whitfield said, with feeling.
"Josey says the Captain's too sick to give valid orders."
"From what I've seen, he's too sick to be disobeyed. He's so afraid the British will seize his ship."
"Is it as bad as that?"
"I'm afraid so."
"What will you do?" Mary asked, her black eyes thoughtful.
"I don't know. I want to go out and look at the ship myself, and inspect the damage. I haven't seen her yet. Then I can decide. But I won't do anything without Briggs' consent. As far as I'm concerned, he's the skipper now."
He helped Mary unroll the rest of the rugs, which Briggs had left, piled in the corner, then hurried down to the common room.
Only Newton was there, huddled near the fire to ease his rheumatism. The place was strangely deserted.
"Where's everyone?" Whitfield asked the cook.
"Out gathering provisions to take the Liberty M. around to Marblehead Cove," the old man replied. "Briggs says he wants to get a start while the weather's good."
Time, then, would be precious. "Will you come out to the ship with me now?"
"What's the hurry?"
"I want to look her over before we sail."
Behind him, the door opened, and somebody came in, and turned on the light. Startled, Osmonde spun around, and found himself looking directly into the eyes of Bruneson Zalutar. Bruneson was carrying a large oblong device, which Osmonde first thought was a tape recorder, until the synthesized voice issued from the box.
"I don't advise touching anything here, even if you don't leave finger prints."
Osmonde was speechless. Bruneson removed another of the little devices from his pocket, and placed it in front of the computer near Osmonde.
"Get out of my way!" Osmonde cried. "And take that device with you!"
Bruneson only smiled a little. "To what purpose? What are you going to do? Kill me? I have come close enough to dying that death holds no terrors for me now. As you have discovered for yourself, it is the living that is difficult. As for the device you see, that is only the beginning. All it does, if you haven't forgotten the basics, is keep you from doing damage. All of these machines will now sound an alarm if even touched by an unauthorized user. You they don't know. Me they do."
Osmonde felt the muscles in his neck and shoulders tighten, then sag in surrender and disbelief. "You know me?"
"Of course. In your day, you were and still are quite famous. You put the rest of your people to shame. You developed something worthwhile, and actually shared it. No wonder you could not get along with them."
"You know about that? I couldn't stand the things they did."
"So you ended up here, copying all the bad vices, instead of bringing good."
"I was desperate, to survive, to be accepted, to protect others."
"Who have since died of neglect and mistreatment. You survived, because of what you knew, because others thought it might be useful to them."
"How do you know so much?"