Alexi glanced at me. I was noncommittal.

“I don’t feel like getting up, Tamarov. Tell me.”

“I’m an asshole!” Alexi snapped off the holovid and threw

himself on his bed, facing the partition. His back was tight.

“I already knew that.” Vax sounded annoyed.

In the unpleasant silence I glumly recalled my arrival a few weeks before. Lugging my gear, I’d reported to Hiberniaat Earthport Station, the huge concourse orbiting above Lunapolis City. Preoccupied with loading the incoming stores, Lieutenant Cousins glanced at my sheaf of papers and sent me to find the wardroom on my own.

As I bent awkwardly to open the wardroom hatch a figure cannoned outward through the hatchway, propelling me across the corridor, duffel underfoot, papers flying. I fetched up against the far bulkhead in disarray. My shoulder felt broken.

“Wilsky, get your ass in here!” The bellow came from within.

The young middy froze in horror as I swiped helplessly at a cascade of papers. He darted forward and bent to help me pick up my documents. “You’re Wilsky?” was all I could think to say.

“Yes, uh, sir,” he said, glancing at my length of service pins, knowing instantly that I was his senior.

“Who’s that?” I beckoned to the closed hatch.

“That’s Mr. Holser, sir. He’s in charge. He was going--”

Wilsky grimaced as the hatch sprang open. A huge form loomed over us.

“What the devil do you think--” The muscular midshipman frowned down at me as I crouched in the corridor stuffing papers back into their folders. “Are you the new middy?”

“Yes.” I stood. Automatically I checked his length of service pins. When I got my orders I was told I’d be first middy, but mistakes happen.

“You can put your--” His face went white. “What the bloody hell!” With dismay, I realized that no one had told him. He’d thought he was going to be senior.

Remembering, I sighed. Our first month had not been easy, and I had seventeen more to endure before landfall. I couldn’t physically overpower Vax Holser. Unfortunately, I didn’t know how I could tolerate him either.

“It is precisely because of that, Mrs. Donhauser, because the distances are so great and the voyages so long, that authority is made so rigid and discipline so harsh.”

Mrs. Donhauser listened closely to Khali Ibn Saud, our amateur sociologist and, by profession, an interplanetary banker.

It was a quiet afternoon some two months into the voyage, and I was sitting in the Level 2 passengers’ lounge.

“I’d think distance would have the opposite effect,” she countered. “As people got farther from central government, bonds of authority would be loosened.”

“Yes!” His tone was excited, as if Mrs. Donhauser had proven his point. “They certainly would, if all were left alone. But central authority, our government, reacts, you see? To maintain control it provides rules and standards and insists we adhere to them regardless of circumstances. And our government is willing to invest time and effort in enforcing them.”

The lounge was decorated in pale green, said to be a calming color. From the look of Mr. Barstow, sound asleep in a recliner, the decor was effective. The size of two passenger staterooms, the lounge could seat at least fifteen passengers comfortably. It was furnished with upholstered chairs, recliners, a bench, two game tables, and an intelligent coffee/ softie dispenser.

I was only half interested in the debate. Mr. Ibn Saud’s

theory was not new. In fact, they had presented it better at Academy.

Mrs. Donhauser appealed to me. “Tell him, young man.

Isn’t it true that the Captain is his own authority here in midspace? That he answers to no one?”

“That’s two questions,” I answered. “Yes, and no. The Captain is the ultimate authority on a vessel under weigh. He answers to no one aboard ship. But his conduct is prescribed by the regs. If he deviates from them, on his return he will be removed, or worse.”

“So you see,” Ibn Saud said triumphantly, “central authority is maintained even in the depths of space.”

“Foo!” she threw at him. “The Captain can sail slower, faster, even take a detour if he wishes. Central government has nothing to say about it.”

He shrugged, looking at me as if to ask, “What’s the use?”

“Mrs. Donhauser,” I offered, “I think you make a mistake trying to contrast the Captain’s powers with United Nations authority. The Captain isn’t opposed to central authority. He IS that authority. Legally he can marry people, divorce them, even try and execute them. He has absolute and undiluted control of the vessel.” That last was a quote from an official commentary on the regs; I threw it in because it sounded good. “There was a ship. Cleopatra.Have you heard of it?”

“No. Should I?”

“It was about fifty years ago. The Captain, I don’t remember his name--”

“Jennings,” put in Ibn Saud, his head bobbing in anticipation of my point.

“Captain Jennings acted quite strangely. The officers conferred with the Doctor and relieved him of command on grounds of mental illness. They confined him to quarters and sailed the ship directly to Earthport Station.” I paused for effect.

“So?”

“They were hanged, every one of them. A court-martial found them mistaken in believing the Captain unfit for command. Even though they acted in good faith, they were all hanged.” A silence grew. “You see, the government is absolutely determined to maintain authority, even in space,” I said. “The Captain is the representative of the government, as well as the Church, and he must not be overturned.”

“It’s a bizarre case!”

“It could happen today, Mrs. Donhauser.”

“And besides, that must have been a Naval vessel,” she said. “Not a passenger ship.”

That was too much for me. You’d think people would know what they were getting themselves into. “Ma’am, you may be confused because Hiberniahas a Naval crew, carries a full complement of civilian passengers, and has a hold full of private cargo. What counts is that the Captain and every member of the crew are Naval officers and seamen. Hiberniais a commissioned Naval vessel. By law the Navy carries all cargo bound for the colonies, but legally that cargo is no more than ballast. And the passengers, technically, are just extra cargo. You have no rights aboard this ship and no say whatsoever in what happens on board.” I spoke courteously, of course. A midshipman overheard insulting a passenger was not likely to do so again.

“Oh, really?” She was unfazed. I decided she would make a formidable missionary. “Well, it just so happens we vote on our menus, we have committees to run social functions, we elect the Passengers’ Council, we even voted on whether to stop at the Celestinawreck next week. So where’s your dictatorship now?”

“Window dressing,” I said. “Look. You have to be a VIP to afford an interstellar voyage, right? The Navy doesn’t go out of its way to alienate important people. All of us, officers and crew, are required to be polite to passengers and to assent to your wishes wherever possible. Because you’re valuable you get the best accommodations, the best food, our best service. But that changes nothing. The Captain can override any of your votes anytime he has a mind to.” I wondered if I’d gone too far.

The feisty old battle-ax put me at ease. “You argue well, young man. I’ll think it over. Next time I see you I’ll tell you why you’re wrong.”

I grinned. “I look forward to the lesson, ma’am.”

I stretched, excused myself, and went back to Level 1 and the wardroom. Whatever arguments Mrs. Donhauser marshaled wouldn’t change a thing. The U.N, knew our world had had enough of anarchy. Central control was not imposed by the government on an unwilling populace. Rather, it was appreciated and respected by the vast mass of citizens. Brushfire wars and chaotic revolutions had finally ceased; our resulting prosperity had powered our explosion into space and the colonization of planets such as Hope Nation and Detour.