while Leopard Shark was in flight, and we had nothing to do with the
actual running of the ship. The reason why star-captains are so called is to
distinguish their title from that of the captains who command ships, who are
of a rather grander species. The man in command of Leopard Shark was
Captain Khaseria, a white-haired old campaigner of a somewhat acid temperament.
His was the "naval" branch of the Star Force. When the ship was in
its wormhole, he outranked everyone. Leopard Shark's crew
of thirty, responsible to the Captain, had the duty of defending the ship and
making sure it got to wherever it was supposed to be going.
Our "army" staff had no authority while the ship was in flight—our
job began when it was time to come out of the ship and get on with the mission.
Susarma Lear was the top-ranking officer on the ship; my old acquaintance
Lieutenant Crucero—now a star-captain—was still her right-hand man. We had
three junior officers, half a dozen assorted sergeants, and only fifty troopers—less
than half the force the ship had been designed to carry. We were not expected
to re-invade Asgard; ours was a special task-force. Even so, training them all
was no simple matter, and the more training and aching I did, the less
attractive the prospect of taking these men into the levels came to seem.
There were a few petty compensations. For one thing, Lieutenant Kramin
and his merry men had been relieved of the not-very-onerous job of guarding
Goodfellow and had been added to the complement of Leopard Shark. That
meant that I could give him orders. I could give Trooper Blackledge orders,
too. There are, alas, no really awful jobs to do on a starship, and if there
were they'd be done by the crew, but I managed to find a couple of small ways
of making life uncomfortable for Kramin and Blackledge. The mere fact that I
was an officer caused them as much chagrin as anything I actually dropped on
them. They had grown fat and out of condition while stationed on Goodfellow,
and it made my own aches and pains a little less distressing when I knew I could
always add a little bit more to the burden of theirs.
John Finn had also been press-ganged into service, saved from a penal
battalion by the fact that he had spent time on Asgard and knew a little about
working in the levels. With John Finn the situation was different. Kramin and
Blackledge didn't like me, but John Finn hated me. He didn't seem at all
pleased by the fact that he wasn't going to be sent to a penal battalion. Nor
was he in the least amused by the fact that he was getting what he had so ardently
desired—a free ride to Asgard. He felt himself to be a man much wronged and
betrayed, and he had talked himself into an unshakeable belief that it was all
my fault. I didn't try to harass or inconvenience him—if anything, I was easy
on him—but the mere sight of me was enough to set a peculiar fury seething in
his breast. I decided early on that there was no way I was going down to the
surface of Asgard in the company of John Finn. Accidents happen too easily in
the levels.
My other relationships were easier to handle. My other old
acquaintance, Trooper Serne—now a sergeant—was entirely prepared to be
amicable. Crucero wasn't in the least disturbed by having to share his new rank
with me, and we fell into the role of equals quite readily. The colonel was
careful to maintain an appropriate distance from us all—she carefully cultivated
the proverbial loneliness of command—but she didn't put any undue pressure on.
She didn't try to get heavy when she handed down orders. She didn't talk to me,
as she sometimes had on Asgard, as if I were something the cat had dragged in.
It made for a pleasant change.
I saw very little of our civilian passengers. The diplomat Valdavia was
a thin, lugubrious man with a Middle European accent and an overprecise
manner. I guessed that he had landed this job only because he was in the wrong
place at the wrong time, but I might have
actual running of the ship. The reason why star-captains are so called is to
distinguish their title from that of the captains who command ships, who are
of a rather grander species. The man in command of Leopard Shark was
Captain Khaseria, a white-haired old campaigner of a somewhat acid temperament.
His was the "naval" branch of the Star Force. When the ship was in
its wormhole, he outranked everyone. Leopard Shark's crew
of thirty, responsible to the Captain, had the duty of defending the ship and
making sure it got to wherever it was supposed to be going.
Our "army" staff had no authority while the ship was in flight—our
job began when it was time to come out of the ship and get on with the mission.
Susarma Lear was the top-ranking officer on the ship; my old acquaintance
Lieutenant Crucero—now a star-captain—was still her right-hand man. We had
three junior officers, half a dozen assorted sergeants, and only fifty troopers—less
than half the force the ship had been designed to carry. We were not expected
to re-invade Asgard; ours was a special task-force. Even so, training them all
was no simple matter, and the more training and aching I did, the less
attractive the prospect of taking these men into the levels came to seem.
There were a few petty compensations. For one thing, Lieutenant Kramin
and his merry men had been relieved of the not-very-onerous job of guarding
Goodfellow and had been added to the complement of Leopard Shark. That
meant that I could give him orders. I could give Trooper Blackledge orders,
too. There are, alas, no really awful jobs to do on a starship, and if there
were they'd be done by the crew, but I managed to find a couple of small ways
of making life uncomfortable for Kramin and Blackledge. The mere fact that I
was an officer caused them as much chagrin as anything I actually dropped on
them. They had grown fat and out of condition while stationed on Goodfellow,
and it made my own aches and pains a little less distressing when I knew I could
always add a little bit more to the burden of theirs.
John Finn had also been press-ganged into service, saved from a penal
battalion by the fact that he had spent time on Asgard and knew a little about
working in the levels. With John Finn the situation was different. Kramin and
Blackledge didn't like me, but John Finn hated me. He didn't seem at all
pleased by the fact that he wasn't going to be sent to a penal battalion. Nor
was he in the least amused by the fact that he was getting what he had so ardently
desired—a free ride to Asgard. He felt himself to be a man much wronged and
betrayed, and he had talked himself into an unshakeable belief that it was all
my fault. I didn't try to harass or inconvenience him—if anything, I was easy
on him—but the mere sight of me was enough to set a peculiar fury seething in
his breast. I decided early on that there was no way I was going down to the
surface of Asgard in the company of John Finn. Accidents happen too easily in
the levels.
My other relationships were easier to handle. My other old
acquaintance, Trooper Serne—now a sergeant—was entirely prepared to be
amicable. Crucero wasn't in the least disturbed by having to share his new rank
with me, and we fell into the role of equals quite readily. The colonel was
careful to maintain an appropriate distance from us all—she carefully cultivated
the proverbial loneliness of command—but she didn't put any undue pressure on.
She didn't try to get heavy when she handed down orders. She didn't talk to me,
as she sometimes had on Asgard, as if I were something the cat had dragged in.
It made for a pleasant change.
I saw very little of our civilian passengers. The diplomat Valdavia was
a thin, lugubrious man with a Middle European accent and an overprecise
manner. I guessed that he had landed this job only because he was in the wrong
place at the wrong time, but I might have
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