JOE, THE RIGHT HAND head of Joe-Jim, addressed his words to Hugh Hoyland. "All right, smart boy, you've convinced the Chief Engineer." He gestured toward Bill Ertz with the blade of his knife, then resumed picking Jim's teeth with it. "So what? Where does it get you?"
"I've explained that," Hugh Hoyland answered irritably. "We keep on, until every scientist in the Ship, from the Captain to the greenest probationer, knows that the Ship moves and believes that we can make it move. Then we'll finish the Trip, as Jordan willed. How many knives can you muster?" he added.
"Well, for the love of Jordan! Listen, have you got some fool idea that we are going to help you with this crazy scheme?"
"Naturally. You're necessary to it."
"Then you had better think up another think. That's out. Bobo! Get out the checkerboard."
"O.K., Boss." The microcephalic dwarf hunched himself up off the floor plates and trotted across Joe-Jim's apartment.
"Hold it, Bobo." Jim, the left-hand head, had spoken. The dwarf stopped dead, his narrow forehead wrinkled. The fact that his two-headed master occasionally failed to agree as to what Bobo should do was the only note of insecurity in his tranquil bloodthirsty existence.
"Let's hear what he has to say," Jim continued. "There may be some fun in this."
"Fun! The fun of getting a knife in your ribs. Let me point out that they are my ribs, too. I don't agree to it."
"I didn't ask you to agree; I asked you to listen