From my seat beneath the blank screens, I reviewed the Log. Mr. Chantir had recorded a caning. Philip Tyre was banished to the wardroom. I sighed. Now more than ever, the boy would lash out at his juniors. And of all of them, Derek had been pressed the hardest.
I thumbed the caller. “Mr. Carr to the bridge.”
A few moments later Derek appeared, his uniform immaculate, hair brushed neatly. “Yes, sir?”
I indicated the chair next to Vax. “I need you tonight, Mr. Carr. Assist Mr. Holser. A double watch.” Absolutely unnecessary, docked at an orbiting station.
“Aye aye, sir.” Derek knew better than to question orders.
I could say nothing to explain. Abruptly his eyes flooded with gratitude, as he realized I was keeping him out of Philip Tyre’s reach.
“Mr. Carr has had a hard day, Lieutenant. If he dozes, let him be.”
“Aye aye, sir.” Vax’s face lit. “We’ll manage.”
Satisfied, I went to bed.
The next day we began taking on passengers for Hope Nation and Earth, as well as cargo of metals and manufactured goods. I noticed from the manifest that we would carry the Detour Olympic team home to Earth for the decennial interplanetary Olympics. I suspected the exercise rooms would be well used.
“Aft line secured, sir.” Lieutenant Holser, at the aft airlock.
“Forward line secured, sir,” Lieutenant Crossburn, at the forward lock.
I tapped my fingers, waiting for the routine to play itself out.”Forward lock ready for breakaway, sir.”
“Aft lock ready for breakaway, sir.”
“Very well.” I blew the ship’s whistle three times. “Cast off! Take her, Pilot Haynes.”
In response to the Pilot’s sure touch, our side thrusters released jets of propellant, rocking us from side to side. We broke free.
Lieutenant Crossburn, on the caller. “Forward airlock hatch secured, sir.”
“Secured, very well.” I paced the bridge while the Pilot held our thrusters at full acceleration, speeding us ever farther from the station and Detour’s field of gravity. In two hours, we’d be clear enough to Fuse.
Our return voyage had begun. Seven weeks to Hope Nation, then the long grim journey home. Iwould endure it. I must. I settled into my chair to prepare coordinates.
At last, all was ready. “Engine room prepared for Fusion, sir.”
I looked to the Pilot, raising my eyebrows. He nodded.
“Fuse the ship.” I ran my finger down the screen and the drive kicked in. The stars faded from the simulscreen. We entered the subetheral realm of nonspace, sailing from Detour on the crest of the N wave we generated.
That evening at dinner I played host to several young members of the Olympic team. Though sociable and friendly, they seemed unimpressed by the honor of the Captain’s table.
They talked animatedly among themselves, including me on occasion merely out of courtesy. After months among passengers who’d taken seating at the Captain’s table so seriously, 1 found their attitude refreshing.
Later, restless, I wandered the ship, where excited passengers explored corridors, lounges, and exercise rooms they’d soon find all too familiar. I wandered back to Level 1. Outside the wardroom Rafe Treadwell stood at attention, his nose to the bulkhead. Well, he’d asked for it. Enlistment was his own choice.
I slept badly, still keyed up from the bustle of departure. I knew it would take days to settle back into the dreary routine of Fusion. Nonetheless, I haunted the bridge, with nothing to do.”Have you noticed the Log, sir?” Lieutenant Chantir pointed to the past two days’ entries. “Mr. Tamarov, sloth-fulness, three demerits, by Mr. Tyre. Mr. Tamarov, unclean-Mess, two demerits.”So it had started again. I snapped off the Log without comment, leaned back.
“How long will it go on, sir?”
I opened one eye. “Until I say otherwise, First Lieutenant Chantir.”
He flushed. “Sorry, sir.”
“You’re a good officer,” I said. “But don’t nag.”
His smile was weak. “Aye aye, sir.” He changed the subject. “Have you ever played chess, sir?”
I came awake. “Yes, why?”
“I’m not very good, but I like to play. I’ll bet your puter plays a mean game, though.”
“Thank you.” Darla, in a dignified tone.
“I can’t play on the bridge, Lars. You know that.”
“Really? Captain Halstead played all the time. I loved to watch. Once he actually beat the puter.”
The speaker said, “She must have had an off day.”
“Butt out, Darla,” I growled. Then, “He actually played on watch?” Hope stirred.
Chantir said, “Sure, when we were Fused. What else is there to do?”
“Isn’t it against regs?”
“I read them again, sir, before bringing it up. They say you must stay alert. They don’t say you can’t read or play a game. All the alarms have audible signals, anyway.”
“I’ll warn you if we have a problem,” the puter said helpfully.
“Is this a conspiracy? Darla, did you ever play with an officer on watch?”
“Lots of us do. Janet said she sometimes let Halstead win just to keep his spirits up.”
‘“Captain Halstead’ to you. Janet is their puter, I suppose? When did you talk to her?”
“When her ship docked at Hope Nation to bring you your only intelligent officer, Midshi--I mean, Captain Seafort. I tightbeamed with her as a matter of routine.”
“Who did you play chess with, Darla?”
“Captain Haag, of course. He wasn’t much of a match.”
She sounded disconsolate.
I was flabbergasted. Justin Haag, whiling away the hours playing chess with his puter? I debated. “All right, set them up.”
She won in thirty-seven moves.
It relaxed me so much that I stood double watches just to be near her. After a week I rationed myself to one game a day; any more and I’d become addicted. When a game was over I busied myself studying my moves.
One happy day I forced a draw. A few hours later Alexi reported for duty, relieving Lieutenant Crossburn, who had radiated his silent disapproval during my game.
I was still jovial. “Take your seat, Mr. Tamarov.”
He gripped the back of his chair. “I’m sorry, sir, I can’t sit.” A vein throbbed in his forehead.
My contentment vanished. “Have you been to Mr.
Chantir?”
“I just came from his cabin.” He stared straight ahead at the darkened screen.
“What for?”
“Nothing, sir. Absolutely nothing.” A long moment passed. “Sir, I want to resign from the Navy.”
“Permission refused,” I said instantly. I hesitated. “I’m sorry, Alexi.” I didn’t know what else to offer.
“Yes, sir.” His voice was flat. He added, “Do you have
a reason?”
“For what?”
“Waiting. Not doing anything about him.”
“You’re out of line, Mr. Tamarov.”
“I don’t think I care anymore, sir.”
I cast aside my rebuke. “Yes. There’s a reason.” I nodded to the hatch. “You’re relieved, Alexi. Lie down for a while.”
“If you don’t mind, sir, I’d rather stay here.” I understood.
On the bridge he was safe from the first middy.
“Very well.” I let him wait out the watch. Afterwards I ordered him to Dr. Uburu for healing ointment. He had no choice but to go. I think he was grateful.
I played no more chess for several days.
Mr. Crossburn performed his duties satisfactorily, as always. On his free time he roamed about the ship, asking questions. He finally exhausted the matter of the Treadwells.
Mr. Vishinsky brought me the news first. “Captain, I’ve been interrogated by one of our officers.” He stood at attention beside my chair.
“What about, Mr. Vishinsky?” No need to ask by whom.
“About Captain Haag’s death, sir. About how the launch happened to explode, and how the puter came to be glitched.
An implication was made that it was no accident.”