“I wouldn’t care to be one of them, sir,” Vax said. He gestured at the dark brooding hulk of Miningcamp planet.

I grunted. “A rough life. Three shifts work around the clock, and they’ve nothing but barracks to look forward to.”

I had watched the holovid documentaries.

Derek asked, “How long can they go without supplies, sir?”

“How would I know?” I tried to repress the annoyance in my tone. “On emergency rations, if they cut energy and air waste, probably quite a while.”

Vax wondered, “Why are they panicked, then, after only eight months?”

A good question. It was probably the uncertainty; they couldn’t know why their supply ship hadn’t arrived, or when it ever would. I said as much.

Vax said, “Captain, if we took even a hundred of them, we’d be--”

“You midshipmen are distracting me.” The Pilot’s tone was sharp. “Mr. Carr, Mr. Holser.” It was petty of him; he wouldn’t have anything to do for at least another hour. We fell silent, acknowledging his control of the bridge.

Vax observed me with interest. I suspected the Pilot’s remark had been a calculated insult. Though Mr. Haynes had ostensibly addressed Vax and Derek, his “you midshipmen”

could well have included me, despite his disclaimer. I wondered why the Pilot was so foolish as to provoke me. Though he’d achieved his immediate goal of reminding me of my origins, he could lose much if I chose to retaliate.

Obviously he knew I had that power; apparently he was still angry enough not to care. I sighed. If I hadn’t been so vindictive about his protest in the Log... My forehead throbbed with the first stabs of a headache.

At last we began our maneuvers to mate with Miningcamp’s orbiting station. The Pilot issued crisp commands, his fingers flying on the console. I constantly rechecked our position from my own screen.

“Steer one hundred thirty degrees, ahead one third.”

“One hundred thirty degrees, one third, aye aye, sir.” The engine room echoed his commands.

“Declination ten degrees.”

“Sir, Miningcamp Station reports locks ready and waiting.” Our comm room tech, on the speaker.

“Acknowledged.” The Pilot seemed preoccupied, as well he would be. Though we had propellant to spare for docking maneuvers, pride would require him to mate properly on the first pass.

I spent the dreary wait planning our unloading of cargo.

The miners would be relieved when our stores of oxygen and fuel were safely in their hands, but not as relieved as I’d be. I rubbed my pulsing temples, stopped when I saw Vax watching.

“Relative speed one hundred kilometers per hour, Pilot.”

The comm room.

“A hundred kph, understood. Maneuvering jets, brake ten.” The station’s tiny airlocks waited.

I spoke softly. “Darla, do you have a file on General Kail?” Almost instantly a picture flashed on my screen. He seemed older than his voice. His statistics and service record flashed below the holo.

I supposed I should invite him aboard for dinner. Living as he did under constant tension, he would probably appreciate a formal meal. Still, I was reluctant. Kail was Army, not U.N.N.S., and he would notice my youth and inexperience.

“Relative speed twenty-five kilometers, distance ten kilometers.”

“Acknowledged. Brake jets, eighteen.” We drifted closer.

The speaker crackled. “Miningcamp Station ready for mating, Hibernia.”“Very well.” My tone was abrupt. I yearned for the reassuring presence of one of our late lieutenants, hands clasped behind him, supervising my drill. Any of them, even Mr.

Cousins.

“Steer one hundred ten, one spurt.” The Pilot’s whole attention was focused on his screens.

A gentle bump. Console lights flashed. The Pilot had kissed airlocks on his first approach, without need for corrections.

“Very good, Mr. Haynes.” I tried not to seem grudging.

I keyed the caller. “Mr. Wilsky, join capture latches.” I’d posted Sandy at the aft lock, where our guests would enter.

“Aft latches joined, sir.”

“Very well. Miningcamp, we’ll off-load your supplies shortly. General Kail, would you care to come aboard?” I hoped he’d refuse.

The General seemed on edge. “Just to say hello, perhaps.

I’d like to get the supplies planetside before local nightfall.”

“Very well, I’ll meet you at our aft lock.” The Pilot and Alexi could man the bridge during the necessary courtesies.

I still hadn’t decided whether to offer dinner.

“Roger. My officers and I will be waiting.”

}“Mr. Tamarov, report to the bridge!” I drummed on the chair arm, organizing my thoughts. After a moment I sent Vax below to supervise at the forward airlock, through which the cargo would be unloaded.

Alexi came onto the bridge, breathing hard. I waved him to a seat, watching the aft lock indicators blink on my console.

We opened our inner airlock hatch. A suited sailor entered the lock. The inner hatch closed, and our precious air was pumped back into the ship.

I granted permission to open the outer lock. The waiting seaman made fast the safety line to the station’s stanchion.

Our airlock and Miningcamp’s were now tethered by steel cable, as regs required. Ever since Concorde’scapture latches had failed, backup lines were mandatory.

Although the mated airlock suckers were airtight, our inner and outer hatches were never opened at the same time; that would invite calamity. When our visitors came aboard, we’d seal the outer hatch before opening the inner one. Standard procedure.

“Aft lock moored to stanchion, sir.” Sandy. I recalled my post at Hibernia’slock when we’d cast off from Ganymede Station. Then, I’d been a mere middy, my every move supervised by Lieutenant Malstrom. Months had passed, and now I supervised from the bridge.

“Forward lock moored, sir.” Vax Holser.

“Very well.” I swallowed bile, tried to settle my churning stomach. Did I need another antiflu shot, or was it just my tension? Nerves, I decided. I couldn’t afford to be sick.

“Welcome to Miningcamp.” A muffled voice, through the speakers. “Captain Seafort, I have my staff along; perhaps I could introduce them to you.” At Miningcamp, visitors were few and far between. General Kail’s officers would eagerly await the ceremony, and whatever social amenities followed.

I sighed. Perhaps dinner was necessary after all.

“Of course, General.” I’d have to change into my starched dress whites. I fidgeted irritably, not looking forward to the formalities.

Sandy, again. “Sir, a party is waiting at the aft lock. About a dozen men, suited. Shall I open?” He sounded young and nervous. I made allowances; he had no lieutenant at his side, as I’d had.

“Let them on, Mr. Wilsky; tell them I’ll be down shortly.”

I set down the caller.

“Aye aye, sir.”

Derek said quietly to Alexi, “They’re so anxious to meet us they can’t even wait--”

“Quiet, middy! One demerit!” Unkind, but I was in no mood for banter. I slapped open the bridge hatch. “Mr.

Tamarov, you have the conn.” I grimaced. “I’ll change clothes, and meet the General at the aft... “

I trailed off, my hackles rising. A dozen men, suited? Something was wrong. For an instant I hesitated, reluctant to make a fool of myself. Then I lunged for the console caller.

“Sandy, belay that order! Seal the lock! Acknowledge!”

No answer. “Sandy!”

MY SHIP! I slammed the emergency airlock override on my console.

A red light blinked its warning; the override had failed.

I bellowed into the caller. “General Quarters! All hands, prepare to repel boarders! Prepare for decompression! Boarders in the aft airlock, Level 2!”

Alexi and Derek gawked.

“Repel Boarders” was the oldest, most obsolete drill in the U.N. Navy, but still we practiced it, along with General Quarters and Battle Stations. I wondered if it had ever before been used in earnest.