And all would
have gone well but for an incident which none could have foreseen, and
for which Kalus himself could not be blamed.
Sylviana, hearing the sounds of conversation and real companionship,
dressed herself quickly, and against doctor's orders, came out to
join them. She was welcomed heartily, and given a place near the head
of the table. And all seemed well enough.
But as the dishes were being cleared and those still seated began to
push back their chairs and settle themselves more comfortably, Sylviana
began to tell her story in abbreviated form. Then Kalus saw that the
tall, straight man at the head of the table---their leader, he
perceived---kept staring at her in growing agitation. In truth the look
was not one of hunger, but of intense curiosity, and of a man racking
his brains for some distant memory. But Kalus could not know this.
Finally the man interrupted her, saying plainly.
'Sylviana. What is your last name?'
To her amazement, she had to think for a moment. She hadn't used it
for what seemed, and was, an eternity.
'Matheson.'
'And was your father Guy Matheson, the physiologist?'
'Yes! Did you know him?'
'Know him? Why girl, I even know YOU, though I'm sure you
wouldn't remember. I worked with your father for the better part of
a year, trying to smooth out some wrinkles in the cryogenics and
life-support systems needed for longer, deep Space voyages.
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