The shower cut off. JR poured the coffee. In a few more moments the bath door opened and the senior captain walked out, barefoot, in trousers and turtleneck sweater, in a gust of moist, soapy air.
“Good morning, sir.” JR pulled the chair back as James Robert stepped into the scuffs he wore about his quarters, disreputable, but doubtless comfortable. A click of a remote brought the screen on the wall live, and showed them a selection of screens from the bridge.
They were at the jump-point intermediate between Voyager and Esperance, a small lump of nothing-much that radiated hardly at all. If there’d been any other mass in two lights distance, the point would have been tricky to use… dangerous. But there was nothing else out here, and it drew a ship down like a far larger mass.
Systems showed optimal. They were going to jump out on schedule. JR remarked on nothing that was ordinary: it annoyed the Old Man to listen to chatter in the morning, or after jumps. He simply stood ready to slide the chair in as the Old Man sat down.
He looked up. The captain had stopped. Cold. Staring off into nowhere with a sudden looseness in his body that said this was a man in distress.
JR moved, bumping past the chair, seized the Old Man’s flaccid arm, steered him immediately to the seat at the table.
The Old Man got a breath and laid a shaking hand on the table,
“I’ll get Charlie,” JR began.
“No!” the Old Man said, the voice that had given him orders all his life, and it was hard to disregard it.
“You should have Charlie,” JR said “Just to look—”
“Charlie has looked,” the Old Man said. “Medicine cabinet, there in the bunk edge. Pill case.”
He left the Old Man to get into the medicine compartment, hauled out a small pharmacy worth of pill bottles he’d by no means guessed, and brought them back to the table. The Old Man indicated the bottle he wanted, and JR opened it. The Old Man took the pill and washed it down with fruit juice.
“Rejuv’s going,” the Old Man said then. “Charlie knows.”
It was a death sentence. A long-postponed one. JR sank down into the other chair, feeling it like a blow to the gut.
“Does Madison know?”
“All of them.” The Old Man was still having trouble talking, and JR kept his questions quiet, just sat there. The realization hit him so suddenly he’d felt the bottom drop out from under him… this was what the Old Man had meant at dinner that night back at Voyager. This was why it disturbed Madison: that he was saying it in public, for others to hear, not the part about the peace, but the part about finishing. The captain—the captain, among all other captains Finity had known, was arranging all his priorities, the disposition of his power, the disposition of his enemy, all those things… leading in a specific direction that left his successors no problem but Mazian. That was why the Old Man had said that peculiar thing about needing Mazian.
No, the Old Man hadn’t quarreled with Mallory and then left in some decision to pursue a different direction.
The Old Man had this one, devastatingly important chance to wield the power he’d spent a protracted lifetime building.
Secure the peace. Accomplish it. And look no further into human existence. The final wall was in front of him. The point past which never.
“Shall I call Madison, sir?” he asked the Old Man.
“Why?” the Old Man challenged him sharply. And then directly to him, to his state of mind: “Worried?”
The Old Man never liked soft answers. Least of all now. JR sensed as much and looked him in the eye. “Not for the ship, sir. You’d never risk her. But Charlie’s going to be mad as hell if I don’t tell him.”
The Old Man heard that, added it up—the flick of the eyes said that much—and took a sip of coffee. “I’ll thank you to keep Charlie at bay. I’ve taken to bed for the duration of the voyage. I plan to get to Esperance.”
“I’m grateful to know that, sir.”
“Precaution,” the Old Man said.
“Yes, sir.”
“You don’t believe it for a minute, do you?”
“I’m concerned.”
“And have you been discussing this concern in mess, or what?”
“I haven’t. You put one over on me, sir. Completely. I never figured this one.”
“Smart lad,” the Old Man said. “You always were.” He lifted the lid on the breakfast. Eggs and ham. Bridge crew got the attention from the cookstaff on short time schedules. So did the captain. So did the senior-seniors, for their health’s sake.
“Yes, sir,” he said. “Thank you. I try to be. I suggest you eat all of it and take the vitamins. My shoulders are popping. I’d hate to imagine yours.”
“The insufferable smugness of youth.” James Robert looked up at him. The parchment character of his skin was more pronounced. When rejuv failed, it failed rapidly, catastrophically. Skin lost its elasticity. The endocrine system began to suffer wild surges, in some cases making the emotions spiral out of control. There might be delusions. Living a heartbeat away from the succession, JR had studied the symptoms, and dreaded them, in a man on whose emotional stability, on whose sanity, so very much depended.
“Waiting,” the Old Man said, “for me to fall apart.”
“No, sir. Sitting here, wondering if you were going to want hot sauce. They didn’t put it on the tray.”
The Old Man shot him a look. The spark was back in his eye, hard and brilliant.
“You’ll do fine,” the Old Man said. “You’ll do fine, Jamie.”
“I hope to, sir, some years from now, if you’ll kindly take the vitamins.”
“In my good time,” the Old Man said in a surly tone. “God. Where’s respect?”
“For the living, sir. Take both packets.”
“Out. Out! You’re worse than Madison.”
“I hope so, sir.” He saw what reassured him, the vital sparkle in the eyes, the lift in the voice. Adrenaline was up. “I’d suggest you leave the transit to jump to Alan and Francie. Sir.”
“Jamie, get your insufferable youth back to work. I’ll be at Esperance. I’m not turning a hand on this run until I have to.”
“Yes, sir,” he said, glad of the rally—and heartsick with what he’d learned.
“Out. Tell Madison he’s got the entry duty. With first shift.”
And not at all happy.
“I’m moving everybody up,” the Old Man said with perfect calm. “I’m retiring after this next run. You’re to take Francie’s post. Madison will take mine.”
“Sir…”
“I think I’m due a retirement. At a hundred forty-nine or whatever, I’m due that. I’ll handle negotiations. Administrative passes to the next in line. Filling out forms, signing orders. That’s all going to be Madison’s, Jamie-lad. As you’ll be junior-most of the captains. And welcome to it. I’m posting you. At Esperance.”
The Old Man had surprised him many a time. Never like this.
“I’m not ready for this!”
The Old Man had a sip of coffee. And gave a weak laugh, “Oh, none of us are, Jamie. It’s vanity, really, my hanging on, waiting for an arbitrary number, that hundred and fifty. It’s silliness. I’m getting tired, I’m not doing my job on all fronts, I’m delegating to Madison as is: he’ll do the nasty administrative things and I do what I do best, at the conference table. Senior diplomat. I rather like that title. Don’t you think?”
“I’ll follow orders, sir.”
“Good thing. Fourth captain had damned well better. Meanwhile you’ve things to clean up before you trade in A deck.”
Fletcher. The theft. All of that. And for the first time in their lives he’d be separated from Bucklin, who’d be in charge of the juniors until Madison himself retired. He’d be taking over fourth shift, dealing with seniors who’d seen their competent, life-long captain bumped to third.