I sighed inwardly, knowing what Captain Haag would
have done. But I liked Alexi. I groped for a way to divert him. “Calculate drive corrections for load imbalance, assuming we don’t take on any cargo in Detour. It’ll be good practice.”
“Aye aye, sir.” It kept him quiet awhile, anyway.
On his next watch, Pilot Haynes reported he was unable to find my authorization codes in any of our files. I nodded, saying nothing, hoping he hadn’t seen my sudden blush. As soon as I could manage it casually, I left the bridge, hurried to my cabin. I took the forgotten chipcase from my safe, slipped a chip into my holovid.
The first chip held Captain Haag’s personal pay vouchers, and statements of his savings account at Bank of Nova Scotia and Luna. The second, a text borrowed from the ship’s library.
The third was a series of authorization codes for special access to the puter.
Not quite at ease handling the matter on my own, I called the Chief to the bridge, had him sit with me while I ordered Darla to recalculate.
It was really quite simple. After I entered the codes she went silent for almost a minute, while the screen flashed.
Finally, she chimed a bell, as if clearing her throat. “Recalculation complete, Captain.”
I heaved a sigh of relief. “Very well. What’s the ship’s base mass, Darla?”
“215.6 standard units.”
“And adjusted mass?”
Her voice was assured. “215.6 standard units. Are we plotting another Fuse?”
“Oh, Lord God.” I glanced to the Chief. He swallowed.
Darla was still glitched.
Two days passed, while we debated what to do. I swore the Chief and the Pilot to secrecy; nerves on board were taut enough without rumors that a crazed puter might send us to another galaxy.
I cursed my stupidity in not having turned back for home when I had the chance. Lieutenant Dagalow was no Dosman, but she had her advanced puter rating, and could have told us how to correct the parameter problem. Knowing the task was beyond me, I sent the Pilot delving into our puter manuals in the hope he’d learn enough to guide us through whatever programming might be necessary.
As Hiberniawas already in Fusion, I saw no point in Defusing until Mr. Haynes felt himself ready. Though a proper Captain would have decided alone, I asked the Chief’s opinion. He agreed.
In the meantime, Purser Browning reported no inquiries about enlistment. I had copies of my announcement posted in the passenger mess and lounges. Some were torn down.
The death sentences also preyed on my mind. I went to Amanda’s cabin and shared with her my dread at having to consider executions. If I’d been Captain when the riot took place the affair wouldn’t have gotten past Captain’s Mast.
But the court-martial was an established fact; now what was I to do? She studied my face strangely. “Pardon them, of course.
How can you do anything else?”
“What am I telling the crew by condoning mutiny?” I asked.
“Nicky, that wasn’t a mutiny, it was a brawl. You know that.”
I tried to help her understand. “It was a kind of mutiny, hon. They disobeyed all sorts of regs, on smuggling, on drugs, about fighting. Worse, they attacked the officers Captain Malstrom sent in to break it up.”
“They were brawling. You already said you wouldn’t have called a court-martial.”
“Yes, but...” How did I explain, to a civilian? “Look.
Say I’m a midshipman, and I’ve been up all night at General Quarters, and afterwards I report to the Captain with my uniform untidy. If he sees it he has to put me on report. And then I get in trouble with the first lieutenant.” I paused for breath. “But he might decide not to see it. Then he doesn’t have to deal with it.”
“So, decide not to see it,” she said promptly.
“The problem is that it’s already been seen. If Captain Malstrom hadn’t officially noticed it with formal charges, I could let them go. Now if I do, I’m saying that mutiny goes unpunished.” She was troubled. “I thought I knew you, Nicky. You can’t be so cruel as to kill those poor men.” That wasn’t quite fair. I wouldn’t kill them. That decision had already been made by Admiralty, Captain Malstrom, and the courtmartial’s presiding officer. I would let them be killed, a different thing altogether. If I did nothing, the process started by someone else would continue. I decided not to press the point.
When we parted, the trouble was still between us.
The next day I had some good news. A note from the Purser; a passenger wanted information about joining up. I called Mr. Browning to the bridge, where I shared watch with the Chief. “One of the Treadwell joeys,” I guessed. “Rafe or Paula.”
“No, sir.” The purser looked uncomfortable standing at attention. “Mr. Carr.”
“Derek? You’re joking.”
The concept of playing a trick on the Captain seemed beyond the man. “No, sir,” he assured me, his tone earnest.
“He asked to speak to an officer about your announcement.
He kept repeating he hadn’t made his mind up yet.”
“Who’d be best to send to him?” I asked the Chief.
“Are you sure you’d let him join, sir?” A good question.
“No.” That decided it. “I’ll talk with him myself.”
After watch and a short nap I went down to the Level 2 cabin Derek had shared with his father. It would be less formal than the bridge.
“Hello, Captain.” We hadn’t spoken since my promotion.
He stood aside to let me enter. I chose a seat. His cabin was neat and clean, his belongings put away. Good.
“Mr. Carr.” I had the right to call him by his first name --he was still a minor--but he’d see it as patronizing. The question rang in my mind: Was he officer material? Could a boy of his background handle the wardroom? I waited. He would bring the matter up when he was ready.
“I suppose you’ve come about what I told Mr. Browning.”
“That’s right.” Uninvited, I took a chair. After all, I was the Captain.
“It was just an idea I had.” He sat too, on his bunk.
“If you’re not serious, I’ll go.” I wouldn’t waste my time in a rich boy’s cabin, with all the problems I had yet to solve.
“No, I was serious,” he said quickly. “I still am.”
“Why would someone like you want to be a midshipman?”
I asked. Perhaps I had been around Mrs. Donhauser too long; I was learning to cut to the heart of the matter.
Derek examined his fingernails. “You remember I told you about my father’s will? The managers control our estate until I’m twenty-two.”
“Yes?”
“I know how those people operate. They’ll send me somewhere to school. Get me out of the way. Maybe even back to Earth, another seventeen months stuck on board a frazzing ship.”
“Thanks.”
He had the grace to blush. “I’m sorry how that sounded.
Anyway, I don’t want to be helpless. I’m old enough to make my own decisions. And you said enlistment was for five years... “
“So?”
“In five years I’d be almost twenty-two.” He made it sound as if it were reason enough to join up.
“Have you had schooling, Mr. Carr?” It was necessary to ask; groundside, education was optional with parents.
“Of course! I’m no peasant.”
“Math?”
“Some. Algebra, geometry, trig.”
“Calculus?”
“No. I could learn it, though.” He didn’t lack for selfconfidence.
When I had nothing more to say he inquired, “Do you think I should do it?”
“No.” In our whole conversation he never called me “sir”, and only referred to me as “Captain” one time. He never used my name. Even aside from the matter of courtesy, he didn’t sound very motivated.
“Why not?”
“For one thing, you’re rather old to start as a cadet.”
“I’d just be wasting the next two years, anyway.”