"Aye aye, Captain."

He scratched Chipsie's chin, fed her sugar cubes, and assured her that she was the finest spider puppy in that part of the sky. He then excused himself.

He was feeling exhilarated and oddly reassured. Seeing Mr. Walther disappearing into his room, he paused at the companionway and on impulse followed him. A matter had been worrying him, this was as good a time as any.

"Dutch? Are you busy?"

The First Officer turned. "Oh. No, Captain. Come in."

Max waited during the ceremonial coffee, then broached it. "Something on my mind, Mr. Walther--a personal matter."

"Anything I can do?"

"I don't think so. But you're a lot more experienced than I am; I'd like to tell you about it."

"If the Captain wishes."

"Look, Dutch, this is a 'Max' matter, not a 'Captain' matter."

Walther smiled. "All right. But don't ask me to change my form of address. I might pick up a bad habit."

"Okay, okay." Max had intended to sound out Walther about his phony record: had Dr. Hendrix reported it? Or hadn't he?

But he found it impossible to follow that line; being a captain had forced him into a different mold. "I want to tell you how I got into this ship." He told it all, not suppressing Sam's part now that it no longer could hurt Sam. Walther listened gravely.

"I've been waiting for you to mention this, Captain," he said at last. "Dr. Hendrix reported it to me, in less detail, when he put you up for apprentice astrogator. We agreed that it was a matter that need not be raised inside the ship."

"It's what happens after we get back that frets me. If we get back."

"When we get back. Are you asking for advice? Or help? Or what?"

"I don't know. I just wanted to tell you."

"Mmmm ... there are two alternatives. One we could handle here, by altering a not very important report. In which ..."

"No, Dutch. I won't have phony reports going out of the _Asgard_."

"I was fairly certain you would say that. I feel the same way, except that I would feel obligated for-- well, various reasons--to cover up for you if you asked it."

"I once intended to arrange a phony on it. I even felt justified. But I can't do it now."

"I understand. The remaining alternative is to report it and face the music. In which case I'll see it through with you--and so will the Chief Engineer and the Purser, I feel sure."

Max sat back, feeling warm and happy. "Thanks, Dutch. I don't care what they do to me ... just as long as it doesn't keep me out of space."

"I don't think they'll try to do that, not if you bring this ship in. But if they do--well, they'll know they've been in a fight. Meantime try to forget it."

"I'll try." Max frowned. "Dutch? Tell me the truth, what do _you_ think about the stunt I pulled?"

"That's a hard question, Captain. More important is, how do you feel about it?"

"Me? I don't know. I know how I used to feel--I felt belligerent."

"Eh?"

"I was always explaining--in my mind of course-- why I did it, justifying myself, pointing out that the system was at fault, not me. Now I don't want to justify myself. Not that I regret it, not when I think what I would have missed. But I don't want to duck out of paying for it, either."

Walther nodded. "That sounds like a healthy attitude. Captain, no code is perfect. A man must conform with judgment and common-sense, not with blind obedience. I've broken rules; some violations I paid for, some I didn't. This mistake you made could have turned you into a moralistic prig, a 'Regulation Charlie' determined to walk the straight and narrow and to see that everyone else obeyed the letter of the law. Or it could have made you a permanent infant who thinks rules are for everyone but him. It doesn't seem to have had either effect; I think it has matured you."

Max grinned. "Well, thanks, Dutch." He stood up. "I'll get back up to the Hole and mess up a few figures."

"Captain? Are you getting enough sleep?"

"Me? Oh, sure, I get a nap almost every watch."

"Minus four hours, Captain." Max sat up on the cot in the control room, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. The _Asgard_ was in the groove, had been boosting along it for days, working up to that final burst that would squeeze them out of this space and into another--one they knew or some other, depending on how well their "fudging" had conformed to the true structure of the universe.

Max blinked at Kelly. "How long have you been up here?"

"Not long, Captain."

"Did you get _any_ sleep?"

"Well, now, Captain ..."

"Forget it, you're incorrigible. Got one ready?"

"Yes, sir."

"Shoot." Max sat on the cot while they passed data to him, eyes closed while he programmed the problem and translated it into the binary numbers the computer understood. He had not been out of the Hole more than a few minutes at a time for days. He would doze between sights, wake up and process one, then lie down again.

He had kept Kelly and Kovak on watch-and-watch as long as possible--although it was hard to get Kelly to rest. Lundy, Smythe, and Noguchi had continued to rotate, overlapping when the going got faster in order to help each other with plate changing and readings. For Max there could be no relief; he must process each sight, supplying from his card-file memory the information in the missing manuals.

All the Worry gang were there but Lundy. He came up as Max finished and ordered the correction. "Compliments of cookie," he announced, setting down a gallon of ice cream.

"What flavor?" asked Max.

"Chocolate chip, sir."

"My favorite. Just remember when you are dishing it that efficiency marks will be coming up one of these days."

"Now, Captain, that's not fair. The Chief has a lot more mass to feed than you have."

"And I have a very high metabolic rate," announced Noguchi. "I need more."

"Noggy, you have a built-in space warp in each leg. We'll let Kelly dish it and hope that pride will restrain him." Max turned to Kelly. "What schedule are we on?"

"Twenty minutes, Captain."

"Think we need that so soon?"

"Just to be safe, sir."

"Okay." They ran another sight and ate the ice cream, after which Max shifted them to transition stations. Kelly did not take the computer. A key punched by Kovak gave the same answer as one punched by Kelly, and Max wanted Kelly on the vernier stereograph where his long experience could make the best of poor data. Lundy assisted Kelly, with Smythe and Noguchi shooting and running.

At minus two hours Max called Compagnon, told him that they were narrowing down; the Chief Engineer assured him that he would nurse boost and vector himself from there on. "Good hunting, Captain."

On a ten minute schedule Max still found it easy, though he had to admit he wasn't as fresh as a still-warm egg. But he was kept comfortably busy and the corrections were pleasantly small--Compagnon must be doing a real job down there. When the preset on the computer said less than one hour to zero, he stood up and stretched. "Everybody all set. Somebody wake up Noggy. Everybody got a pepper pill in him? And who's got one for me?"

Kovak leaned back and handed him one, Max popped it into his mouth and downed it with a swig of coffee. "Grab a last sandwich if you're going to. All right, gang--let's hit it!"

The data flowed in a steady stream. After a while Max began to tire. He would no more than pick one correction off the lights on the computer and feed it to the power room than Kelly would have more data ready. A correction showed up that seemed off the curve, as if they were "hunting" excessively. He glanced back at the lights before applying it--then realized that a new set of data was being offered.

"Repeat!" he called out.

Kelly repeated. Max ran the figures over in his mind and found that they meant nothing to him. What had that last correction implied? Had he used a legitimate method in surveying this anomaly? Could you even call it surveying? Was this what a survey ship did to get out? How could they expect a man to... .