Bischoff goes to his cabin and pours himself a slug of that Armagnac. Then he goes to the chart room, which he’s always preferred to his cabin. The chart room is the only civilized place on the whole boat. It’s got a beautiful sextant in a polished wooden box, for example. Speaking tubes converge here from all over the boat, and even though no one is speaking into them directly, he can hear snatches of conversation from them, the distant clamor of the diesels, the zap of a deck of cards being shuffled, the hiss of fresh eggs hitting the griddle. Fresh eggs! Thank god they managed to rendezvous with the milchcow before she was sunk.