There was a long wait, as if the procedure were being checked
with some authority, but finally he received a surly acknowledgement.
"Steward. Whatcha want?"
"How's the chance of getting some food?"
"You're on first-class."
They could afford it, Doc decided. He wouldn't cost them much,
considering the distance he was going. "Bring me two complete
dinners--one Earth-normal and one Mars-normal."
"Okay, Feldman. But if you think you can suicide that way, you're wrong.
You may be sick, but you'll be alive when they dump you."
A sharp click interrupted him. "That's enough, Steward. Captain Everts
speaking. Dr. Feldman, you have my apologies. Until you reach your
destination, you are my passenger and entitled to every consideration of
any other passenger except freedom of movement through the ship. I am
always available for legitimate complaints."
Feldman shook his head. He'd heard of such men. But he'd thought the
species extinct.
The steward brought his food in a thoroughly chastened manner. He
managed to find space for it and came to attention. "Is that all--sir?"
For a moment, as the smell of real steak reached him, Doc regretted the
fact that his metabolism had been switched. Then he shrugged. A little
wouldn't hurt him, though there was no proper nourishment in it. He
squeezed some of the gravy and bits of meat into one of his bottles,
sticking to his purpose; then he fell to on the rest.
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