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their belts, along with their weapons-Bluten wore the medium-heavy one-handed
energy projector while the other two made do with needlers.
Just inside the galley entrance, the major stopped to speak with his troops.
The man was short and bulky, the woman taller but equally large of frame. Both
had heavy features
\b140\b under stubble haircuts. They might have been siblings, or cousins.
Nodding at Blutens words, the two went to fill trays and then moved to sit at
the senior-
ratings' table, where no one greeted them or looked directly at them. The
major himself came to the officers' table. It wasn't at all filled; Bran sat
across from Chief Engineer Mallory and beside Second Officer Farnsworth. The
Second Engineer was there, too-and as usual, not saying much.
Having seen how the ratings reacted to Police, Bran waited to see how his own
colleagues would respond. As Bluten sat, Mallory gave him one quick look,
said, "Major," nodded, and looked down to his food again. So Bran did the
same, and the other two followed suit. A mess attendant brought
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Blutens dinner, did not make the usual queries about beverages or dessert, and
left. Everyone kept eating. Nobody spoke.
After a time, Major Bluten set his fork down loudly enough that it had to be
on purpose. Side-
glances showed Bran that no one was admitting having noticed, so he didn't
either.
Bluten cleared his throat. "I want your attention and I will have it. Look at
me." All right.
Bran did so, keeping his face as expressionless as he could manage. "That's
better. Now let's understand each other, right from the start. I am on a
routine surveillance mission, not a witch hunt. If our HQ thought this ship
had any special problems I'd have brought at least a full squad aboard with
me, not a mere two aides. We allow for a certain bias by your branch of the
service, against mine, but I sincerely advise you not to push it too hard."
He'd been leaning forward, tensed. Now he eased back. "Any questions?"
Silence. "All right. You had your chance."
Appetite somehow gone, Bran finished his meal anyway. He'd be damned if he'd
let the bastard know he'd scored, any!
When Tregare got to his quarters, having taken an hour of sim training in
Control, he found all his gear out in the corridor. \iNow\i what? \iDamn!\i He
keyed the door open and swung it wide, to see a naked Cleet Farnsworth in the
act of disengaging from an equally nude woman-the one
Farnsworth had brought in earlier from groundside.
"I'm sorry," Bran said. "Didn't know you were in here." But- "Come to that,
Second Officer, why the hell \iare\i you?"
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Showing no embarrassment, Farnsworth headed for the bathroom cubicle. "Tell
you in a minute."
The woman followed
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him and shut that door; Bran was left standing, looking at his room filled
with Farnsworth's belongings. \iWhat the hell?\i
After a time Farnsworth emerged, took the woman's clothes into the other room,
came back out, and dressed without hurry. "The majors equivalent rank is just
behind the captain," he said. "So he bumped the First. Who bumped me. And I've
bumped \iyou."\i
Sure. RHIP. "Yeah. I see it. But who do \iI\i bump?"
Farnsworth, shirt half on, shrugged. "You don't have to. Down on the next deck
there's at least two Chief Rating rooms empty. Pick the one you like." He
sniggered. "Just be glad, you and your redhead, you won't be stuck with a
roommate."
Why did Farnsworth make himself so impossible to like? Never mind; Bran made a
lukewarm reprise of his apology for intruding, and went out to haul his stuff
one deck downship. Of the two vacant
Chiefs' rooms he picked the smaller, because it had been cleaned more
recently.
When Tregare went to Control to observe lift-off, he looked for a seat near
enough to follow the pilots moves on monitor instruments. Before he found one,
Captain Rigueres called to him. "Sit over here, Third. Beside me. Let's see if
you can take the ship up."
All Bran's nerves flashed fire. He stood frozen. Well, he'd wondered if no
notice would be better than prolonged anxiety. Now he decided there wasn't all
that much difference. Numbly he moved and sat beside Rigueres. "Thank you,
sir." Without thought he began his pre-lift checkoff list, feeling nothing
more than if the occasion had been merely another sim.
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When the count hit sixty, he turned and asked, "Sir? How fast a lift would you
prefer? Gentle, or more vigorous?"
Squinting, Rigueres gave his shark grin. "I had in mind to leave you the
choice. Now that you ask, though-let's make a real exercise out of it.
Consider that our survival depends on getting us upstairs at max-except,
Tregare stay one notch below \ireal\i redline, for your max. And-" A
moment's pause. "I want some evasive action, soon as you have a bit of speed
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