"Oh."
"But the matter came to the top of my mind in connection with this." He again indicated the false record. "Jones, I deal in figures and my mind can no more help manipulating them for all the information they contain than I can help breathing. This record says that you went to space a year before your uncle retired--I remember what year that was. But you told me that your uncle had trained you at home and your performance bore out that statement. Two sets of alleged facts were contradictory; need I add that I was fairly sure of the truth?"
"Oh. I guess I wasn't very smart?'
"No, you weren't. Figures are sharp things, Jones. Don't juggle them, you'll get cut. What was the other matter?"
"Well, sir, I was kind of wondering what was going to happen to me. I mean about _that_."
"Oh," Hendrix answered indifferently, "that's up to the Stewards & Clerks. My guild won't take action concerning a disciplinary matter of another guild. Unless, of course, they call it 'moral turpitude' and make it stick."
With that faint comfort Max left, Nevertheless he felt easier than he had at any time since he had signed on. The prospect of punishment seemed less a burden than constantly worrying about getting caught. Presently he forgot it and exulted in the opportunity--at last!--to take a crack at astrogator.
He wished he could tell Sam ... or Ellie.
12 HALCYON
The probationary appointment was logged later that same day. The Captain called him in, swore him in, then congratulated him and called him "Mister" Jones. The ceremony was simple, with no spectator but Hendrix and the Captain's secretary.
The commonplaces attendant on the change were, for a while, more startling to Max than the promotion itself. They started at once. "You had better take the rest of the day to shake down, Mr. Jones," the Captain said, blinking vaguely. "Okay, Doc?"
"Certainly, sir."
"Good. Bennett, will you ask Dumont to step in?"
The Chief Passengers' Steward was unblinkingly unsurprised to find the recent steward's mate third a ship's officer. To the Captain's query he said, "I was planning to put Mr. Jones in stateroom B-014, sir. Is that satisfactory?"
"No doubt, no doubt."
"I'll have boys take care of his luggage at once."
"Good. You trot along with Dumont, Mr. Jones. No, wait a moment. We must find you a cap." The Captain went to his wardrobe, fumbled around. "I had one that would do here somewhere."
Hendrix had been standing with his hands behind him. "I fetched one, Captain. Mr. Jones and I wear the same size, I believe."
"Good. Though perhaps his head has swelled a bit in the past few minutes. Eh?"
Hendrix grinned savagely. "If it has, I'll shrink it." He handed the cap to Max. The wide gold strap and sunburst the Astrogator had removed; substituted was a narrow strap with tiny sunburst surrounded by the qualifying circle of the apprentice. Max thought it must be old insignia saved for sentimental reasons by Hendrix himself. He choked up as he mumbled his thanks, then followed Dumont out of the Captain's cabin, stumbling over his feet.
When they reached the companionway Dumont stopped. "There is no need to go down to the bunkroom, sir. If you will tell me the combination of your locker, we'll take care of everything."
"Oh, gee, Mr. Dumont! I've got just a small amount of truck. I can carry it up myself."
Dumont's face had the impassivity of a butler's. "If I may make a suggestion, sir, you might like to see your stateroom while I have the matter taken care of." It was not a question; Max interpreted it correctly to mean: "_Look, dummy, I know the score and you don't. Do what I tell you before you make a terrible break!_"
Max let himself be guided. It is not easy to make the jump from crewman to officer while remaining in the same ship. Dumont knew this, Max did not. Whether his interest was fatherly, or simply a liking for correct protocol--or both--Dumont did not intend to allow the brand-new junior officer to go lower than "C" deck until he had learned to carry his new dignity with grace. So Max sought out stateroom B-014.
The bunk had a real foam mattress and a spread. There was a tiny wash basin with running water and a mirror. There was a bookshelf over the bunk and a wardrobe for his uniforms. There was even a shelf desk that let down for his convenience. There was a telephone on the wall, a buzzer whereby he could summon the steward's mate on watch! There was a movable chair all his own, a wastebasket, and--yes!-- a little rug on the deck. And best of all, there was a door with a lock.
The fact that the entire room was about as large as a piano box bothered him not at all.
He was opening drawers and poking into things when Dumont returned. Dumont was not carrying Max's meager possessions himself; that task was delegated to one of his upper-decks staff. The steward's mate followed Dumont in and said, "Where shall I put this, sir?"
Max realized with sudden embarrassment that the man waiting on him had eaten opposite him for past months. "Oh! Hello, Jim. Just dump it on the bunk. Thanks a lot."
"Yes, sir. And congratulations!"
"Uh, thanks!" They shook hands. Dumont let that proper ceremony persist for a minimum time, then said, "That's all now, Gregory. You can go back to the pantry." He turned to Max. "Anything else, sir?"
"Oh, no, everything is fine."
"May I suggest that you probably won't want to sew insignia on these uniforms yourself? Unless you are better with a needle than I am," Dumont added with just the right chuckle.
"Well, I guess I could."
"Mrs. Dumont is handy with a needle, taking care of the lady passengers as she does. Suppose I take this one? It can be ready and pressed in time for dinner."
Max was happy to let him. He was suddenly appalled by a terrifying notion--he was going to have to eat in the Bifrost Lounge!
But there were further disturbances before dinner. He was completing the small task of stowing his possessions when there came a knock on the door, followed immediately by someone coming in. Max found himself nose to nose with Mr. Simes.
Simes looked at the cap on his head and laughed. "Take that thing off before you wear out your ears."
Max did not do so. He said, "You wanted me, sir?"
"Yes. Just long enough, Smart Boy, to give you a word of advice."
"Yes?"
Simes tapped himself on the chest. "Just this. There is only one assistant astrogator in this ship--and I'm it. Remember that. I'll still be it long after you've been busted back to sweeping up after cows. Which is where you belong."
Max felt a flush crawl up his neck and burn his cheeks. "Why," he asked, "if you think that, didn't you veto my appointment?"
Simes laughed again. "Do I look like a fool? The Captain says yes, the Astrogator says yes--should I stick my neck out? It's easier to wait and let you stick your neck out--which you will. I just wanted to let you know that a dinky piece of gold braid doesn't mean a thing. You're still junior to me by plenty. Don't forget it."
Max clenched his jaw and did not answer. Simes went on, "Well?"
"'Well' what?"
"I just gave you an order."
"Oh. Aye aye, Mr. Simes. I won't forget it. I certainly won't."
Simes looked at him sharply, said, "See that you don't," and left. Max was still facing his door, clenching his fists, when Gregory tapped on the door. "Dinner, sir. Five minutes."
Max delayed as long as he could, wishing mightily that he could slide down to Easy deck and take his usual place in the warm, noisy, relaxed comfort of the crew's mess. He hesitated in the lounge doorway, paralyzed with stage fright. The beautiful room was blazing with light and looked unfamiliar; he had never been in it save in early morning, to change the sandbox located down the pantry passage--at which times only standing lights were burning.