We settled down to shipboard routine. I missed the familiar passengers: Mrs. Donhauser, Mr. Ibn Saud, and, of course, Amanda. Few of our original group were continuing with us; unfortunately the Treadwells were among them.
One day Vax came to me on the bridge, troubled. “Sir, there’s something I think you should know.”
“What’s that?”
He hesitated, on difficult ground. “Lieutenant Crossburn, sir. He’s been questioning the crew about the attack at Miningcamp. At first I thought he was just making conversation, but he’s seeking out the men who were most involved.”
I chose the easy way out. “You know better than to complain about a superior officer.”
“Yes, sir. It wasn’t a complaint. I was informing you.”
“Drop it. I don’t care what he asks.” I had nothing to hide from my new lieutenant. My conduct would be subject to Admiralty’s unblinking scrutiny as soon as we reached home, and I knew I had no chance of emerging without substantial demotion, if not worse. Mr. Crossburn’s inquiry could do no harm to my shattered career, though it was unusual.
More disturbing was Lieutenant Chantir’s casual comment while I perused a chess manual on a quiet watch. “I’m surprised your midshipmen don’t make more effort to work off demerits, sir.”
“What do you mean?”
“Yesterday I caned one of them for reaching ten. You’d think he’d take the trouble to exercise them off. They’re only two hours apiece.”
“Which midshipman?” I asked, my mind on the queen’s gambit.
“Mr. Carr. I rather let him have it, for his laziness. What is your policy, Captain? Should I go hard or easy?”
“Neither,” I said, disturbed. “Use your judgment.” I had issued Derek seven demerits for trying to choke me--and I hadn’t forgotten to log them when we got back--but he would have been too well trained by now to blunder into more.
“How many did he have?”
“Eleven.” Very odd. I didn’t think Derek would step that far out of line.
“Let’s look them up.” I turned on the Log, suspecting I knew the answer. If a lieutenant wanted Derek caned he didn’t have to trouble giving him demerits, he would merely send him to Mr. Chantir with orders to be put over the barrel. A first midshipman, on the other hand, couldn’t issue such an order. He could only assign demerits, which if given fast enough would have the same effect.
I flipped through the daily notations made by each watch officer. “Mr. Carr, improper storage of gear, one demerit,by Mr. Tyre.... Mr. Carr, insubordination, two demerits,by Mr. Tyre.”Why hadn’t Derek worked them off? I turned the pages. “Mr. Carr, improper uniform, two demerits, byMr. Tyre.... Mr. Carr, inattention to duty, two demerits,by Mr. Tyre.”There it was. Tyre was piling demerits on Derek faster than he could exercise them off.
I decided I couldn’t interfere. It was Derek’s bad luck Tyre had made an example of him; the new first middy was asserting his authority. But though I put the incident out of my mind, I had been a midshipman too recently to miss the other signs of trouble. When I saw Alexi on watch he seemed more hesitant, more preoccupied. More significant, I never saw him off watch except at dinner. I realized all my midshipmen seemed to have dropped out of sight. I hoped Alexi would give me a hint, but he was too Navy to do that.
Wardroom affairs were settled in the wardroom.
It was not a busy time for me. In Fusion, we had no need for navigation checks, no data on the screens, nothing to do except keep an eye on the environmental systems: recycling, hydroponics, power. Brooding about the wardroom situation, I began watching for new Log entries.
Derek, Alexi, and both cadets were fast accumulating demerits. Seven for Alexi in three days, two more for Derek.
Sixteen between Paula and Ricky.
I bent the rules to ask Philip Tyre outright. “Everything going well in the wardroom, Mr. Tyre?”
He smiled easily. “Yes, sir. I have it under control.” As always, he was immaculate. Slim and slight, his face was faintly disturbing in its perfection.
“You’re working with a good group of officers, Mr.
Tyre.”
“Yes, sir. They need reminding who’s in charge, but I’m on top of that.” His innocent blue eyes questioned me. “Is anything wrong, sir?”
“No, nothing,” I said quickly, knowing I had strayed across the unwritten line that kept the Captain out of the wardroom’s business.
Dr. Uburu came to me next, catching me outside the dining hall on the way back from dinner. “Did you know,” she asked gravely, “that I treated Paula Treadwell this week?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“I thought not.” She paused as we reached the top of the ladder.
“What for, Doctor? If I’m not violating your professional ethics?”
“Hysteria.” She met my eye.
“Good Lord.” I waited for her to continue. She said nothing.”What was the cause?”
“I swore an oath not to tell you,” she said. “My patient insisted, before she’d talk about it.”
My hand clenched the rail. “I could order you,” I said.
“Yes, but I wouldn’t obey.” Her voice was calm. She smiled, her dark face lighting with warmth. “I don’t mean to make problems, Captain. Just keeping you advised.”
“Thank you.” I went to my cabin and lay on my bunk, wishing the Chief still visited for evening conversations.
Since I’d broken off our sessions after Sandy’s death he had been friendly and helpful, but had kept his distance.
My next watch was shared with Lieutenant Crossburn.
After a long period of silence he made efforts to start a conversation. I let him lead it, my mind elsewhere. He soon brought up the attack at Miningcamp. “When the rebels forced their way on board,” he asked,”who was most helpful in repelling them?”
“Mr. Vishinsky was invaluable,” I said, not wanting to be bothered. “And Vax Holser.”
His next question snapped me awake. “What made you decide to let a dozen suited men on board in the first place?”
My tone was sharp. “Are you interrogating me, Lieutenant”?”
“Not at all. But it was an amazing incident, Captain. I write a diary. I try to include important things that happen near me. I’ll change the subject if you’d rather.”
“No,” I said grudgingly. “It was a mistake, letting them on board. I very much regret it.”
He seemed pleased at my confidence. “It must have been a terrible day.”
“Yes.”
“I write every evening,” he confided.”I pour my thoughts and feelings into my diary.”
“It must be a great solace,” I said, disliking him.
“I never show it to anybody, of course, even though it reads quite well. I’m the only one who’s seen it, other than my uncle.”
It seemed polite to prompt him. “He’s a literary critic?”
“No, but he understands Naval matters. Perhaps you’ve heard of him. Admiral Brentley.”
Heard of him? Admiral Brentley ran Fleet Ops at Lunapolis, and this man had his ear! My heart sank.
“You’ve written about Miningcamp in that little diary, Lieutenant?”
“Oh, yes.” His manner was modest. “It’s very dramatic.
Uncle will be intrigued, I’m sure.”
I let the conversation lapse, fretting. After a while I shrugged. Admiralty didn’t need Mr. Crossburn’s little book to know how badly I’d managed.
But three weeks into the cruise I knew I would have to take action. Mr. Crossburn had left the subject of Miningcamp and was asking about the execution of sailors Tuak and Rogoff. At the same time, the morale of my midshipmen and cadets was plummeting. Alexi stalked the ship in a cold fury, civil to me but otherwise seething with unexpressed rage. Derek appeared depressed and tired.
“I’ve had Mr. Tamarov up twice,” Lieutenant Chantir told me. “I went fairly easy on him, but I had to give him something.” I was already aware; I was watching the Log carefully now. I began checking the exercise room, realizing that one of the reasons I rarely saw the middies and cadets was that they were usually working off demerits.