“No,” I intervened. “Mouthing off in the wardroom isn’t comparable to dealing drugs to the crew or hitting the CPO, and you know it.”
After a moment Alexi sighed. “I know,” he said. He sat up. “You joes realize I have to go through it again? With the other trials?”
We commiserated. The crisis was over.
The other trials began the next day. When they were done, two other unfortunate sailors were under sentence of execution for striking their officers. A variety of lesser penalties had been handed out to the remaining participants.
The Pilot formally presented his verdicts to Captain Malstrom. The Captain had thirty days to act; unless he commuted the sentences, they’d be automatically carried out by the master-at-arms.
During the next few days the officers watched for signs of tension among the crew. There was some bitterness, but on the whole the hands settled down. Our crew knew the ship needed authority at its helm, just as the rest of us did. If Captain Malstrom was troubled by the decision he had to
make, he didn’t show it. He relaxed visibly when it was clear the unrest was over. He laughed easily, joked with the younger passengers, and arranged a place for me several evenings at the Captain’s table, though it was not customary to favor an officer.
Once he even invited me to play chess. He knew I would be uncomfortable in the Captain’s quarters; they were so unapproachable I’d never been allowed to see them. We went instead to the deserted lieutenants’ common room.
We set up the board for the first time in many weeks. I didn’t play well, not by choice, but from nervousness. Playing the Captain was nothing like playing a second lieutenant. He seemed to sense my mood and chatted with me, trying to put me at my ease.
“Have you reached a decision yet, sir, on the rioters?” It was presumptuous of me, but Captain Malstrom seemed pleased by my attempt at intimacy. Perhaps he needed it.
His face darkened. “I don’t see how I can let them off and keep a disciplined ship.” He sighed. “I’m trying to justify commuting the death sentences; the thought of killing those poor men sickens me. But in good conscience, I don’t know how I can.”
“You still have time to decide.”
“Yes, twenty-five days. We’ll see.” He turned the conversation to Hope Nation. He asked if I still intended to buy him a drink. Yes, I said, knowing it was unlikely. A Captain on shore leave doesn’t carouse with middies. For one thing, he’s too busy.
After that day, something was wrong. I didn’t know what, but the Captain didn’t offer a smile when we met in the ship’s dining hall. He looked preoccupied and grim. I shared a four-hour watch with him and the Pilot. He hardly spoke. I assumed his decision about the death sentences was affecting his mood.
Two days later we Defused for a scheduled navigation check. The greater the distance in Fusion, the more our navigation errors would compound. It was customary on a long cruise such as ours to Defuse two or three times, replotting the coordinates each time.
We came out of Fusion deep in lonely interstellar space.
Darla and the Pilot both plotted our course. Their figures agreed with those of Vax, who as midshipman of the watch also ran a check. But instead of Fusing directly, the Captain laid over another night, drifting in space.
At dinner that night I sat two tables from the Captain. He seemed determined to be cheerful. I could see him teasing Yorinda Vincente, who laughed uncertainly, as if unsure of the right response. I looked for Amanda and found her across the hall at Table Seven with Dr. Uburu. I willed her to catch my eye. Eventually she did, smiled gently, turned away.
A forkful of beef halfway to my mouth, I watched the Captain reach for his water glass. He paused, a puzzled look on his face. He gestured and said something to the steward, who hurried to Table Seven. A moment later Dr. Uburu was kneeling by the Captain’s chair. Captain Malstrom was hunched over the table.
Two sailors serving the mess helped the Captain to his feet, supporting him from either side, guiding his unsteady steps toward the corridor. Dr. Uburu followed. I watched, agape.
There was no one senior to stop me. I excused myself and boldly left the dining hall for the corridor to the ladder. I ran up the steps two at a time to officers’ country. No one was in the infirmary except the med tech on watch. I hurried forward to the Captain’s cabin. Of course his hatch was shut.
It was unheard of to knock, so I waited.
After some minutes Dr. Uburu stepped out and shut the hatch.”What are you doing here?” Her tone was a challenge.
I wasn’t reassured by the look on her dark, wide-boned, face. “Is he all right, ma’am?”
She ignored my breach of discipline. “I can’t discuss the Captain’s personal affairs.” She started toward the infirmary.
I hurried to keep up. “Is there anything I can--I mean--”
I didn’t know what I meant.
Dr. Uburu was brusque. “Go back to the dining hall.
That’s an order.”
Phrased like that, she left me no choice at all. She was an officer, rank equal to a lieutenant, and I was a midshipman.
“Aye aye, ma’am.” I turned and left.
All next day the Captain was off watch. I asked the Pilot when we would Fuse; he shrugged and left it at that, and I knew I wouldn’t get any information from him. When my watch ended at last I went back to the wardroom. None of the other middies had heard anything reliable through the ship’s grapevine.
I was thinking about hunting for Amanda; I needed her comforting acceptance. But there came a knock on the wardroom hatch; the med tech was outside, ill at ease. “Mr.
Seafort, sir, you’re wanted in the infirmary.”
“Why the infirmary?” If anything, I was hoping for a summons from the Captain’s cabin.
“It’s the Captain, sir. He’s been moved there.” Vax and I exchanged a glance. I donned my jacket and hurried after the tech. Dr. Uburu indicated a cubicle; I went in alone.
Captain Malstrom lay on his side under a limp white sheet, his head propped on a pillow. The halogen lights hurt my eyes. He offered a weak smile as I entered and came to attention. “As you were.”
“How are you, sir?”
For answer he threw off the sheet. He wore only his undershorts. His side and back were a mass of blue-gray lumps.
I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to will them away.
“How long have you known, I mean, have they been--”
“Four days. They came up just a few days ago.” He made an effort to smile again.
“Is it... “
“It’s T.”
“Oh, Harv.” Tears were running down my face. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you.”
“Can she--are they doing anything, sir? Radiation, anticars?”
“There’s more, Nicky. She found it in my liver, my lungs, my stomach. I haven’t been able to see too well today, either.
She thinks it might be in my brain too.”
I didn’t care what they did to me. I reached out and took his hand. If anyone had seen, I could have been summarily shot.
He squeezed my fingers. “It’s all right, Nicky. I’m not afraid. I’m a good Christian.”
“But I’Mafraid, sir.” The situation began to sink in on me. “That’s why you didn’t Fuse.”
“Yes. I think... I’m not sure... whether to go back.”
He lay back, closing his eyes. He breathed slowly, hoarding his strength. We stayed as we were for several minutes. I began to realize what had to be done.
“Captain,” I said slowly, clearly. “You have to give Vax his commission. Right now.”
He came awake. “I hate to do it, Nicky. He can be such a bully. If he’s in charge and there’s no one to stop him... “
“He’s changed, sir. He’ll do all right.”
“I don’t know... “ His eyes closed.
“Captain Malstrom, for the love of Lord God, for the sake of this ship, commission Vax while you still can!”
He opened his eyes again. “You think I ought to?”
“It’s absolutely necessary.” What might happen otherwise was too horrible to contemplate.