I decided I couldn’t interfere. It was Derek’s bad luck Tyre had made an example of him; the new first middy was asserting his authority. But though I put the incident out of my mind, I had been a midshipman too recently to miss the other signs of trouble. When I saw Alexi on watch he seemed more hesitant, more preoccupied. More significant, I never saw him off watch except at dinner. I realized all my midshipmen seemed to have dropped out of sight. I hoped Alexi would give me a hint, but he was too Navy to do that.
Wardroom affairs were settled in the wardroom.
It was not a busy time for me. In Fusion, we had no need for navigation checks, no data on the screens, nothing to do except keep an eye on the environmental systems: recycling, hydroponics, power. Brooding about the wardroom situation, I began watching for new Log entries.
Derek, Alexi, and both cadets were fast accumulating demerits. Seven for Alexi in three days, two more for Derek.
Sixteen between Paula and Ricky.
I bent the rules to ask Philip Tyre outright. “Everything going well in the wardroom, Mr. Tyre?”
He smiled easily. “Yes, sir. I have it under control.” As always, he was immaculate. Slim and slight, his face was faintly disturbing in its perfection.
“You’re working with a good group of officers, Mr.
Tyre.”
“Yes, sir. They need reminding who’s in charge, but I’m on top of that.” His innocent blue eyes questioned me. “Is anything wrong, sir?”
“No, nothing,” I said quickly, knowing I had strayed across the unwritten line that kept the Captain out of the wardroom’s business.
Dr. Uburu came to me next, catching me outside the dining hall on the way back from dinner. “Did you know,” she asked gravely, “that I treated Paula Treadwell this week?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“I thought not.” She paused as we reached the top of the ladder.
“What for, Doctor? If I’m not violating your professional ethics?”
“Hysteria.” She met my eye.
“Good Lord.” I waited for her to continue. She said nothing.”What was the cause?”
“I swore an oath not to tell you,” she said. “My patient insisted, before she’d talk about it.”
My hand clenched the rail. “I could order you,” I said.
“Yes, but I wouldn’t obey.” Her voice was calm. She smiled, her dark face lighting with warmth. “I don’t mean to make problems, Captain. Just keeping you advised.”
“Thank you.” I went to my cabin and lay on my bunk, wishing the Chief still visited for evening conversations.
Since I’d broken off our sessions after Sandy’s death he had been friendly and helpful, but had kept his distance.
My next watch was shared with Lieutenant Crossburn.
After a long period of silence he made efforts to start a conversation. I let him lead it, my mind elsewhere. He soon brought up the attack at Miningcamp. “When the rebels forced their way on board,” he asked,”who was most helpful in repelling them?”
“Mr. Vishinsky was invaluable,” I said, not wanting to be bothered. “And Vax Holser.”
His next question snapped me awake. “What made you decide to let a dozen suited men on board in the first place?”
My tone was sharp. “Are you interrogating me, Lieutenant”?”
“Not at all. But it was an amazing incident, Captain. I write a diary. I try to include important things that happen near me. I’ll change the subject if you’d rather.”
“No,” I said grudgingly. “It was a mistake, letting them on board. I very much regret it.”
He seemed pleased at my confidence. “It must have been a terrible day.”
“Yes.”
“I write every evening,” he confided.”I pour my thoughts and feelings into my diary.”
“It must be a great solace,” I said, disliking him.
“I never show it to anybody, of course, even though it reads quite well. I’m the only one who’s seen it, other than my uncle.”
It seemed polite to prompt him. “He’s a literary critic?”
“No, but he understands Naval matters. Perhaps you’ve heard of him. Admiral Brentley.”
Heard of him? Admiral Brentley ran Fleet Ops at Lunapolis, and this man had his ear! My heart sank.
“You’ve written about Miningcamp in that little diary, Lieutenant?”
“Oh, yes.” His manner was modest. “It’s very dramatic.
Uncle will be intrigued, I’m sure.”
I let the conversation lapse, fretting. After a while I shrugged. Admiralty didn’t need Mr. Crossburn’s little book to know how badly I’d managed.
But three weeks into the cruise I knew I would have to take action. Mr. Crossburn had left the subject of Miningcamp and was asking about the execution of sailors Tuak and Rogoff. At the same time, the morale of my midshipmen and cadets was plummeting. Alexi stalked the ship in a cold fury, civil to me but otherwise seething with unexpressed rage. Derek appeared depressed and tired.
“I’ve had Mr. Tamarov up twice,” Lieutenant Chantir told me. “I went fairly easy on him, but I had to give him something.” I was already aware; I was watching the Log carefully now. I began checking the exercise room, realizing that one of the reasons I rarely saw the middies and cadets was that they were usually working off demerits.
Perplexed, I took my problems to Chief McAndrews. At this point I didn’t hesitate to display my ignorance. He already knew my limitations.
“What did you expect?” he asked bluntly. “You asked the Naval station to supply you officers. Where did you think they’d get them?”
“I don’t understand.” I shuffled, feeling young and foolish, but I needed to know.
He sighed. “Captain, Mr. Chantir volunteered, yes? The other two officers were requisitioned. If Admiralty told you to supply a lieutenant for an incoming ship, whom would you pick?”
“Mr. Crossburn.” I spoke without hesitation.
“And which midshipman?”
I swore slowly and with feeling.
“You gave the joeys in the interplanetary fleet a chance to get rid of their worst headaches.”
I damned my stupidity, my blindness. “How could I have been so dumb? I asked for officers and didn’t even check their files to see who I was getting!” A real Captain would have Blown to watch for that trick.
“Easy, sir. What do you think the files would have shown?”
I paused. A good question. The notation “tyrant” or “sadist” was unlikely to appear in Mr. Tyre’s personnel file. As for Lieutenant Crossburn’s diary, what the man wrote in his cabin during his free time wasn’t subject to Naval regulations.
Even if his officious private inquiries stirred up trouble, that was hard to prove, and moreover it would be foolhardy to rebuke a man who had the ear of the fleet commander. No wonder his Captain was delighted to get rid of him.
I went back to my cabin to think. I had no sympathy for those who misused our Naval traditions for their own ends, but I didn’t know how to stop Mr. Tyre without violating tradition myself. As for Mr. Crossburn, how could I order him not to keep a diary? I found no solution.
In the meantime, I ordered Alexi to advanced navigational training, followed by a tour in the engine room under Mr.
Me Andrews. That should give him some respite from Mr.
Tyre.
It didn’t. Alexi continued to accumulate demerits. Again he reached ten and was sent to Lieutenant Chantir’s cabin.
Two days later we shared a watch. He eased himself into his chair, wincing. I blurted, “Be patient, Alexi.”
“About what, sir?” His voice was unsteady. Seventeen now, nearly eighteen, he could expect better treatment than he was getting. Yet his Academy training held firm. He would not complain to the Captain about his superior.
I deliberately stepped over the line. “Be patient. I know what’s going on.”
He looked at me, his usual friendliness replaced by indifference. “Sometimes I hate the Navy, sir.”
“And me too?”
After a moment his face softened. “No, sir. Not you.” He added quietly, “A lot of people are being hurt.” It was as close as he would come to discussing the wardroom.