A lifeboat is designed to save and to sustain life; comfort is a minor consideration. Nonetheless, Grimes and his seven companions were lucky. The boat was certified to accommodate fifty persons; there were only eight people aboard it, so there was room to stretch and for the maintenance of some degree of privacy. There were six toilets—two forward, two aft and two amidships—all of them part and parcel of the boat's life support systems. In this respect the loyalists were almost as well off as they had been aboard the ship. There was a stock of the versatile, all-purpose plastic sheeting in one of the lockers, more than enough for the improvisation of separate sleeping quarters. Grimes did mutter something about "bloody gypsy tents," but nobody took him seriously. The initial supply of fresh water—which would be cycled and recycled many times before planetfall—was ample for all requirements. The food supply—mainly dehydrated concentrates—was adequate, highly nutritious and boring.
The power cells, always kept fully charged, had provided the energy needed to push the boat up clear of the atmosphere and into orbit. The initiation of the fusion reaction which was the craft's main power source took time, care and patience. The reactor's controls were so designed that anybody able to read and to follow instructions would be capable of starting the thing going, however—an absolute necessity in a vehicle which might well (as on this occasion) number no qualified engineers among its crew.
There was, of course, a powerful inertial drive unit, but neither reaction drive nor interstellar drive. But there was Carlotti equipment in addition to the Normal Space Time transceiver. The boat was incapable of making an interstellar voyage, although any Deep Space ship picking up the initial distress call (if any) from the parent vessel or from the boat itself would be able to home on the Carlotti transmitter. Voyages within a planetary system, however, were quite practicable. That from Earth to Mars, Carnaby estimated, would occupy a mere fifty days.
He told the others this while they were eating—"enjoying" would be the wrong word—their first meal in the lifeboat.
"A mere fifty days?" exploded Sonya. "In this sardine can!"
"Don't complain," Grimes told her. He went on to speak of the much longer voyages, in much worse conditions, that had been made in open boats on Earth's seas. "And at least," he concluded, "there's no danger of our having to resort to cannibalism."
"Isn't there?" demanded Sonya. She looked with distaste at the pallid mess in the bowl of her spoon. "Isn't there? After a few weeks of this . . . goo we might feel like it!"
"Cheer up, Sonya," Williams admonished her. "The first fifty years are the worst!"
"I said 'days,' not 'years,' Commander," corrected Carnaby.
"Fifty days . . ." said Grimes thoughtfully. "Ample time to get ourselves organized—but not too much time. To begin with we must try to get it through to the Martians that we come in peace. That's your department, Ken and Clarisse. Try to get in touch with that local telepath again. Play the poor, helpless castaway angle for all you're worth!"
"And poor, helpless castaways is just what we are," commented Sonya.
"Mphm. Not so helpless, as long as we have a ship of sorts under us. But there's no point in telling the Martians that. Now, has anybody else any suggestions?" He added, looking at his wife, "Constructive ones, that is."
"I was rather wondering, sir," asked Ruth Macoboy diffidently, "if I should try to get in touch too. Our NST transceiver, on a tight beam, has a very long range . . ."
Grimes considered this. He said at last, "We're up against the language barrier, Ruth. Ken and Clarisse, working with ideas rather than words, aren't . . . Mphm. But a beamed signal, even if it's no more than a repetition of a Morse symbol, will tell them that we're coming, that we aren't trying to slink up on them, as it were . . ."
"Assuming that they are tuned in and listening," said Sonya.
"They probably will be," said Grimes, "once the telepathic contact has been established." He thought, It doesn't matter, anyhow. The main consideration is keeping as many people as possible fully employed on a voyage like this. In some ways—in one way—Bligh was lucky. During his boat voyage after the Bounty mutiny he charted everything along his track.
"Can't anything be done about the food?" asked Sonya.
Grimes turned to Brenda Coles. "That's your department, Brenda. What has Faraway Quest's Assistant Bio-Chemist to suggest?" He grinned. "My apologies. As far as this boat is concerned, you're the Bio-Chemist."
The small, plump blonde smiled back at him. "This is rather grim, isn't it? But I hope that the next meal will be better. There's a supply of flavoring essences in the galley—chicken, steak, lobster, and coffee, chocolate, vanilla . . . The trouble is that I've never been much of a cook . . ."
"Your department, then, Sonya," said Grimes. "Ruth will measure out for each meal what we need in the way of proteins, vitamins and whatever to keep us functioning. You will try to turn these basic requirements into something palatable."
"Chicken mole . . ." murmured Sonya thoughtfully.
"And what's that?" demanded Williams. "I've heard rabbit referred to as underground chicken . . ."
"Really, Bill," she said reprovingly. "Chicken mole is a Mexican dish. Chicken with mole sauce. The mole sauce is made mainly from bitter chocolate."
"Gah!" exclaimed Williams.
"And the other main ingredient of the sauce," Grimes told him, "is dried chicken blood. Mphm. I don't think, somehow, that we shall be having chicken mole on the menu. Anyhow, do your best, ladies. And remember that there's no risk of the customers deciding to patronize another restaurant . . ."
"There's always the risk of their murdering the chef!" said Williams cheerfully.
But it wouldn't come to that, Grimes hoped. His people would be keeping themselves occupied during the seven long weeks of the voyage. Williams there was no need to worry about—he would always find something useful to do. And as long as Carnaby could navigate, he would be happy. And if time did hang heavily, in spite of everything, there was the games locker, with chess, Scrabble and the like, as well as packs of playing cards and sets of dice. This would be no luxury cruise, but it could have been a lot worse.