Lesbee sank into his seat. As he sat there, he grew aware that all around him in the theater, people were fumbling their way to their places. He had time for doubt, for second thought. If he was going to do anything, he would have to act swiftly.

Ganarette, who had been in the aisle whispering to another young man, crushed into the seat beside him. He leaned toward Lesbee. 'Only a few minutes now, as soon as everybody is in. When the doors close, we'll let the lights go off and the picture get started. Then in the darkness I'll make my way to the stage. The moment the lights go on, you join me.'

Lesbee nodded, but he was unhappy. Only a short time had gone by since the great rush of sympathy for the rebellion, but now that feeling was fading, replaced by an uneasy fear of consequences. He had no conscious picture of what might happen. It was an overall and growing sense of doom.

A buzzer sounded. 'Ah,' whispered Ganarette, 'the picture is going to start.'

The time was passing inexorably. The internal pressure to act was strong in Lesbee. He had a terrible conviction that he was ruining himself with the authority group aboard, and that on the other hand the mutineers merely intended to use him during the early stages of their rebellion, that later he would be discarded. Abruptly, he was convinced that he had nothing to gain by their victory.

In a sudden desperation, he stirred in his seat, and looked around tensely, wondering if he couldn't escape.

He gave that up after one quick look. His eyes had accustomed to the night of the theater and it wasn't really dark at all. Over to one side he could see Third Officer Browne and his wife sitting together. The older man caught his distracted gaze and nodded.

Lesbee grimaced an acknowledging smile, then turned away. Beside him, Ganarette said, 'Where's Carson?'