Meanwhile Mr. Crossburn continued his scribbling. On watch he would flip idly through the Log, scrutinizing entries made prior to his arrival. He was delving into Alexi’s defense of the unfortunate seamen at their court-martial. He asked me how well I thought Alexi had performed.
“Lieutenant, your questions and the reports you write are damaging the morale of the ship. I wish you’d stop.”
“Is that an order, sir?” His tone was polite.
“A request.”
“With all due respect, sir, I don’t think my diary is under Naval jurisdiction. I’ll ask Uncle Ted about that when I see him. As for asking questions, of course I’ll stop if you order it.”“Very well, then, I so order.”
“Aye aye, sir. Since your order is so unusual I request that
you put it in writing.”
I considered a moment. “Never mind. You’re free to carry on.” A written order, viewed without knowledge of his constant prying, would appear paranoid and dictatorial. Anyone who hadn’t experienced Lieutenant Crossburn firsthand wouldn’t understand, and I was in enough trouble with Admiralty as it was.
I had little better luck with Philip Tyre. I called him to my cabin, where our discussion could be less formal than on the bridge.
“I’ve been reviewing the Log, Mr. Tyre. Why do you find it necessary to hand out so many demerits?”
He sat at my long table, his arm resting on the tabletop much as the Chief’s had before I’d isolated myself. His innocent blue eyes questioned me. “I’ll obey your orders, sir.
Are you telling me to ignore obvious infractions?”
“No, I’m not. But are you finding infractions, or searching for them?”
“Captain, I’m doing the best I know how. I thought my job was to keep wardroom affairs from coming to your attention, and I’ve been trying to do that. As I certainly haven’t called any problems to your notice, someone else must have.” It was said so reasonably, so openly, that I could have no complaint.
“No one’s complained,” I growled. “But you’re handing out demerits faster than they can work them off.”
“Yes, sir, I’ve noticed that. I encouraged Mr. Carr and Mr. Fuentes to spend more time in the exercise room. I’ve even gone myself to help them with their exercises. A better solution would be for them to stop earning demerits.” His untroubled eyes met mine.
“How do you propose that they do that?”
“By following regulations, sir. My predecessor must have been terribly lax. I observe a lack of standards in his own behavior, sir. It’s no wonder he couldn’t teach the others. I’m trying to deal with it.”
I sighed. The boy was unreachable. “I won’t tell you how to run the wardroom. I will tell you that I’m displeased about the effects on morale.”
Tyre’s voice was earnest. “Thank you for bringing it to my attention, sir. I’ll make sure their morale problems don’t bother you further.” “I want them eliminated, not hidden! That’s all!”
The midshipman saluted smartly and left. I paced the cabin, bile in my throat. Very well; he’d been warned. I would give him until we left Detour. If he didn’t improve, Mr. Tyre had made his bed; he’d have to sleep in it.
On my next visit to the exercise room I found Derek and Ricky working, Derek on the bars, the cadet struggling at push-ups and leg lifts on the mat. Alexi was absent. The two perspiring boys waited silently for me to leave.
I didn’t come across Alexi for three days, until we next shared a watch. “You haven’t been in the exercise room of late, Mr. Tamarov.”
He glanced at me without expression. “No, sir. I’ve been confined to quarters except to stand watch and go to the dining hall.”
“Good Lord! For how long?”
“Until my attitude improves, sir.” His gaze revealed nothing, but his cheeks reddened.
“Will it improve. Alexi?”
“Unlikely, sir. I’m told I’m not suitable material for the Navy. I’m beginning to believe it.”
“You’re suitable.” I tried to cheer him up. “This will pass. On my first posting my senior middy was very difficult to deal with, but we got to be friends.” I realized how fatuous I sounded. Jethro Hager was nothing like the vicious boy fate had put in charge of my midshipmen.
“Yes, sir. I don’t mind so much, except when Ricky cries himself to sleep.”
I was alarmed. “Ricky, crying?”
“Only two or three times, sir. When Mr. Tyre isn’t around.” That was bad. Ricky Fuentes was a cheerful, goodnatured boy; if he was in tears something was very wrong. I thought briefly of the lesson I had given Vax Holser when I succeeded to Captain, an approach I’d decided against with our new midshipman. In Vax’s case I’d recently been a member of the wardroom and had personal knowledge of his behavior. Also, Vax was a good officer who was making a sincere effort to combat a personal problem. Philip Tyre was not.In three weeks we would Defuse for a nav check, and then we’d have only a few more days to Detour. I could wait.
But a few days later Mr. Chantir raised the subject openly.
“Sir, something’s gone wrong in the wardroom. I’ve had Mr.
Carr and Mr. Fuentes up again. The Log is littered with demerits.”
“I know.”
“Is there anything you could do?”
“What do you suggest, Mr. Chantir?”
“Remove the first midshipman, or distract him. Lord, I’d enjoy having him sent to me with demerits after what he’s done to the others.”
“He’ll make sadists of us all, Mr. Chantir. No, I won’t remove him. I have witnessed no objectionable behavior.
He’s scrupulously polite, he obeys my orders to the letter, he’s excellent at navigation drills and in his other studies. I can’t beach him simply because I don’t like him.”
“That wouldn’t be the reason, Captain.”
“No, but that’s what it would look like to Admiralty. They don’t know that Derek and Alexi aren’t giving him a hard time.”
“What do you expect of me when these joeys are sent to the barrel, then?”
“I expect you to do your duty, Mr. Chantir.” He quickly dropped the subject.
As time passed Mr. Crossburn threw caution to the winds.
Twice he mentioned how eagerly he was looking forward to seeing his uncle Admiral Brentley and talking over old times.
I ignored him, but my uneasiness grew.
For a diversion I called drills. The crew practiced Battle Stations, General Quarters, Fire in the Forward Hold at unexpected intervals. The sudden action seemed a relief.
At last came the day Pilot Haynes took his place on the bridge, along with Alexi and Lieutenant Chantir. I brought the ship out of Fusion, and stars leaped onto the simulscreens with breathtaking clarity. The swollen sun of Detour system glowed in the distance. We would Fuse for four more days
and emerge, hopefully, just outside the planet’s orbit.
I waited impatiently for the navigation checks to be done.
With Pilot Haynes, Mr. Chantir, and Alexi all computing our course there was no need for me to recheck their calculations, but still I did. Finally satisfied, I ordered the engine room to Fuse.
That evening, I had a knock on my cabin hatch. Philip Tyre stood easily at attention, his soft lips turned upward in a pleasant expression. “Sir, excuse me for intruding, but a passenger wishes to speak to you. Mr. Treadwell.” A passenger couldn’t approach officers’ country; he needed an escort to arrange contact with me unless he found me in the dining hall.”Tell him to write--oh, very well.” Though I could refuse to see him, another tirade from Jared Treadwell about his daughter was no more than I deserved for rashly enlisting her.
“Bring him.” The middy saluted, spun on his heel, and marched off. I paced in growing irritation, dreading the interview.
Again, a knock. “Come in,” I snapped. Mr. Tyre stepped aside. Rafe Treadwell came hesitantly into my cabin. I blurted, “Oh, you. I was expecting... “ I waved Philip his dismissal.
The lanky thirteen-year-old smiled politely. “Thank you for seeing me. sir.”