“Stand easy, Mr. Tyre.”

“Thank you, sir.” His voice was steady and vibrant.

“Welcome to Hibernia.”I stopped myself from offering my hand. The Captain must keep his distance. “You’ve been on interplanetary service for the past year?”

The boy flashed a charming smile. “Yes, sir.”

“And you’ve been to Detour.”

“Yes, sir. On Hindenberg,before I was transferred out.”

Tyre had seen a lot of service, more than I had when I’d been posted in Hibernia.“It seems you’re to be senior middy.”

“That’s what I understood from Captain Forbee, sir.” His smile was pleasant. “I think I can handle it.”

“Good. Mr. Tamarov was senior for a while, but I doubt he’ll give you any trouble.”

“I’m sure he won’t, sir.” Was there more emphasis in his tone than necessary? “Very well, Mr. Tyre. Get yourself settled in the wardroom, and have a look around the ship.”

“Aye aye, sir.” He saluted and picked up his duffel with graceful ease. ‘“Thank you, sir.” He turned and marched out.

I made a note to reassure Alexi that he hadn’t been intentionally demoted.

I sat back, comparing the new middy’s entry to Mr.

Chantir’s. Our new lieutenant had come aboard the evening before. He’d reported to the bridge, saluting easily. He responded to my welcome with a warm, friendly grin. “Thank you, sir. It’s good to be aboard.”

“It says here you have special talent in navigation.”

“I wouldn’t say special, sir,” he said modestly. “But I enjoy solving plotting problems.”

“Then I’ll put you in charge of the midshipmen’s drills.”

He smiled again. “Good. I love to teach.” I knew immediately that I would like him. I thought of embittered, tyrannical Lieutenant Cousins and how I’d dreaded our lessons.

We were ready to depart. The Pilot at the conn, we cast off, maneuvered a safe distance from the station, and Fused almost at once. I was so busy I forgot to watch Hope Nation dwindle on the screens before they blanked.

It wouldn’t be long before the stars reappeared; we were on a short run to Bauxite to pick up our third lieutenant. A voyage of five weeks by conventional power, in Fusion we could make the hop in less than a day. We’d take longer to maneuver the ship for mating with U.N.S. Breziathan to travel the interplanetary distance in Fusion.

Breziawas a small cruiser that shuttled back and forth among the planets of Hope Nation system, available for orbital rescues or other needs of the civilian mining fleet and the area’s commercial craft. Lacking fusion engines, Breziacruised at subluminous speeds. Unfortunately, her Captain was only rated interplanetary or I would have shanghaied him as well as his lieutenant.

Pilot Haynes and Lars Chantir worked together during the docking. The Pilot, true to his word, gave no trouble. As he’d said, he was good at his job. After we located Breziahe deftly maneuvered us into matching velocity. To avoid the cumbersome chore of mating airlocks, we drifted to within a hundred meters of Breziaand I had a T-suited sailor carry a flexible line to their lock. Shortly after, our new officer came across the line, hand over hand, his duffel tied behind his suit.

Having little else to do, I went to the lock to meet him.

Correctly, he stripped off his suit before coming to attention.

“Lieutenant Ardwell C. Crossburn reporting, sir.” A short, round-figured man in his late thirties.

“Stand easy, Lieutenant. Welcome aboard.”

“Thank you, sir.” He looked around at his new ship. “As soon as I get my gear stowed I can take up my duties, sir.

I’ll try to be of assistance.”

“No hurry, Mr. Crossburn,” I said in good humor. “You can wait until after dinner.”

“Very well, sir. If you insist.” An odd way to speak, but the man had a peculiar manner about him. Well, his record showed him to be a competent and experienced officer. I returned to the bridge and waited impatiently while Mr.

Haynes and Lieutenant Chantir plotted Fusion coordinates and rechecked them together. Laboriously I went through the calculations myself and found no error. We Fused.

In seven weeks we would reach Detour, a younger colony than Hope Nation, and one whose environment was less hospitable to humankind. Its air held less nitrogen and slightly more oxygen, but it was breathable. They’d had to do a lot of terraforming to bring down the sulphuric compounds in the atmosphere before Detour could be developed. Now the planet was open for colonization and some sixty thousand settlers had already arrived.

Lars Chantir was my senior lieutenant. Mr. Crossburn, with six years experience, was second. Vax was last in line, but that mattered less among lieutenants than midshipmen, unless the Captain died. The barrel was duly moved to First Lieutenant Chantir’s quarters; it was a traditional duty of the senior lieutenant.

I had time on my hands, time to miss Amanda. Our nights in the hills of Western Continent had provided the first sustained intimacy I’d ever known. Knowing how incapable I was, Amanda had still cared for me. I yearned for her presence.

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.