Part 23 (1/2)

”What?” the captain asked wheezily.

Drake turned around. ”There's no lime left in the grit. It's supplied in the form of crushed oyster sh.e.l.l; the birds need it for bone formation now and egg formation later. It dissolves slowly, so most of the oyster sh.e.l.l is excreted intact. But this grit has been reprocessed so many times that there's no lime left.”

Devris pushed open the door and trundled in a can of feed on the improvised wheelbarrow. He listened for a moment to the gasping breath of the captain and watched the worried look on Drake's face. ”How much of this can the human system stand?” he asked, of no one in particular. ”Mac has eczema, the skipper is coming down with asthma, Drake has ducks, and I have the galloping heebie-jeebies.”

Dumbrowski ignored him. ”What about this lime, Doc? Can they do without it?”

”Not at this stage of the game; it'd kill them to go without it for very long.”

”I will gladly sacrifice my useless bones to be ground up for duck food,” Devris volunteered. ”Or, if that seems drastic, we can all pull each other's teeth.”

”Very funny,” said Drake sarcastically.

”It isn't so funny, at that,” Dumbrowski told him. ”We haven't got any lime on board. Why didn't you think of this before?”

”It's never come up before,” Drake said, irritated. ”We know how much oyster sh.e.l.l to give them, but the amount that's actually absorbed has never been computed because there's no necessity for it, usually.”

”Well, you still should have mentioned it before now”' Dumbrowski's voice was tight.

”Hey! Hey!” Devris interrupted. ”Don't go flying off the handle, you two! That fire hose, you know, still works.” He set the can of feed gently on the floor, shooing ducks out of the way.

”You know the trouble with you two guys?” he continued. ”You, Doc, know everything about ducks and nothing about s.p.a.ces.h.i.+ps. And the skipper knows everything about s.p.a.ces.h.i.+ps and nothing about ducks. And neither of you knows which bit of information is vitally necessary for the other. And you both think the other is playing it dirty by withholding information.”

”You're right,” said Dumbrowski, cooling perceptibly. ”I'm sorry, Doc; now, let's think about this.

”Lime, you say. I'm not much of a chemist; isn't that calcium oxide?”

”Not in this case. 'Lime' can be calcium oxide, or calcium hydroxide, or calcium phosphate, or calcium carbonate, depending on who's doing the talking. In this case, it's the carbonate.”

”You couldn't use calcium chloride, I suppose. We've got plenty of that in the emergency air purifiers.”

”I'm afraid not. It'd have to be the carbonate.”

”Hey!” Devris said suddenly. ”I'm no chemist, either, but couldn't we add carbon dioxide to it or something?”

”Not unless we had plenty of sodium hydroxide or the like-”

”We do!” said Dumbrowski. ”We've got that in the air purifiers, too! It takes the CO2 out!”

”Then we've got it!” Drake was excited. ”We run enough carbon dioxide through it to make sodium carbonate; then we mix the calcium chloride with it! The calcium carbonate formed will drop to the bottom because it's insoluble,leaving sodium chloride in solution! It's perfect!”

Then his face fell. ”But we can't tamper with the air purifiers, can we?”

Devris and Dumbrowski both grinned. The navigator said: ”That proves my point-you don't know enough about s.p.a.ces.h.i.+ps.”

Dumbrowski said: ”These are the emergency purifiers. As long as the electronic purifiers work, we don't use the chemicals-too inefficient. We only have 'em aboard in case the electronics go out-and they're in good condition. Besides, we shouldn't have to use all the chemicals. About how much would you need?”

”I'll have to figure it out from the lime removed from the grit, but it shouldn't be too much.”

”Good! We're all set, then.”

More weeks pa.s.sed. The brooders were taken outside to make more room as the birds increased in size and need for living s.p.a.ce. By the end of the sixteenth week, the Constanza was full of ducks.

From engine room to control dome, there were nothing but ducks-ducks that waddled and quacked and flapped their way freely through the huge s.h.i.+p. All the doors were left open now, except those which sealed off the engines and the control rooms and the sleeping compartments. Everywhere else, there were ducks. Thousands of ducks.

It had been hard work, but the pressure was beginning to let up a little as the hour of their rescue approached. N one of the men had had too much sleep, and all had lost weight. Even Dumbrowski was beginning to look hollow-cheeked.

To Drake, everything was fine; his ducks were in fine fettle, all of them. The tanks that had been built and flooded for swimming purposes were being used as the older ducks taught the young ones to swim. Everything was fine except for one thing-he still didn't understand the odd aloofness that concealed Dumbrowski's anger. Why should the captain be sore at Drake before the accident happened? The remark about ”Drake and his harem of ducks” still rankled.

He didn't understand it until one evening when Devris broke into song. Durnbrowski was not in the little common room when it happened; he was in his own cabin.

Devris was singing: ”Old MacDonald had a s.h.i.+p, E,I,E,I,O! And on this s.h.i.+p, he had some ducks, E,I,E,I,O! With a Quack! Quack! here and a Quack! Quack! there, here a Quack! there a Quack!

everywhere a Quack! Quack! Old MacDonald had a s.h.i.+p, E,I,E,I,O-O-O-O!”

When he'd reached the part where he said ”here a Quack!” he'd indicated Drake with a thumb.

The doctor grinned good-humoredly. MacDonald was laughing uproariously.

Devris had started with the second verse: ”Old MacDonald got the itch, E,I,E,I,O!”

”That's a lie!” bellowed Dumbrowski's voice from the door. They all stopped and looked at him. It was quite obvious that he had been hitting the Irish bottle.

”No it isn't, skipper,” Devris said. ”He does have the itch.”

”I mean about the s.h.i.+p! This is my s.h.i.+p! It ain't Old MacDonald's s.h.i.+p, or Drake's s.h.i.+p, or the ducks' s.h.i.+p! It's my s.h.i.+p, and I'm captain here!” He swung around to Drake. ”You understand that, Quack?”

Drake didn't mind Devris calling him that, but when Dumbrowski did, it made him see red. He stood up. ”What makes you think I care who runs this dirty tub?”

”Dirty tub! Who made it dirty? You! You and your carte blanche orders from the Commission!”

MacDonald and Devris were both on their feet, moving to block off the captain.

But Drake said: ”Wait a minute! What's all this about? What carte blanche? I don't know what you're talking about!”

Dumbrowski said something foul. Then he added: ”And I don't care what the Commission does, either! I'm captain here! See!” He turned back into his cabin and came out again with two sheets of flimsy. ”Here!” He threw them at Drake. Then he slammed the door, leaving the three men alone.

Drake picked up the papers and read them.

”What does it say, Doc?” MacDonald asked.

Drake looked up slowly. ”He must have got this before takeoff. It says that Dr. Rouen Drake is entirely responsible for the cargo, and that any orders pertaining to the cargo should be obeyed.” Devris whistled softly. ”Wow!”

”No wonder he's been sore!” MacDonald said.

Drake swore, borrowing some of Dumbrowski's vocabulary. ”How stupid can they get! I swear to you, I didn't ask for any such thing. I thought I was just bucking the skipper's bullheadedness. I wonder why he didn't say something about this before?”