Harcourt burst onto the bridge, his hair tousled, clothes in disarray, eyes still filmed with sleep, pajama cuffs still sticking out of the sleeves of his uniform blouse. “Status!” he snapped.
“Reactor overheated, Captain. Beginning to cool, though.”
“Overheating! And the shuddering we’ve got going through the frame? What’re you doing, Grounder? Running the ship flat out?”
“Yes, sir,” Grounder said through thin lips.
Harcourt stared at her in disbelief. “Flat out? A two-engine ship with four engines?” Then he realized the order that had to be given. “Decelerate to cruising velocity!”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“All right. Cancel the klaxon.”
Grounder toggled the alarm off.
Harcourt drew a deep breath, striving for calm. “What in the name of Heaven possessed you, Number One?”
Ramona realized she’d better acknowledge her error before Grounder could blame it on her. “She was acting under my orders, Captain!”
Harcourt grew very still.
Then, slowly, he turned, his eyes chips of ice. “Orders? Who are you to give orders aboard my ship, Commander?”
In spite of herself, Ramona felt a chill of fear at the sheer mayhem leashed in his eyes.
She couldn’t let him see that, of course. She thrust her jaw forward and snapped, “We have to get to Vukar Tag ASAP, Captain! We need to get to that jump point now, and…”
“And in one piece, Commander!” Harcourt stepped closer, eyes iron, fists on his hips. “Everybody aboard this ship knows the modifications we made—had to make, just to keep this ship on station! For two years, Commander! And fifty-three Kilrathi raids! They know their ship, and you don’t! I will comply with the orders that have been given me to the best of my ability, my crew’s ability—and my ship’s ability! Any interference from you will hamper our ability to execute this mission!”
“Interference!” Ramona felt a surge of anger coming to her rescue. “Captain, I am in charge of this mission!”
“And I am in command of this ship!” Harcourt turned to Grounder. “No one aboard this ship is to accept any orders from Commander Chekhova unless they have been cleared through me first! Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Yes, sir!” Barney echoed.
“See that the order is promulgated to the entire crew at breakfast, Number One.”
“You are not executing your orders to my satisfaction!” Ramona raged.
“Then you may file charges against me, in accordance with established procedure.” Harcourt was suddenly icily formal. “When this mission is completed!”
“But at the rate you’re going, this mission will never be completed!” Ramona knew it was untrue, of course, but all that mattered right now was winning the fight—and making this pigheaded captain realize who was boss.
“Forget about the breakfast announcement, Number One.” Harcourt stepped over to his console and pressed “all stations.”
“Attention all crew! Wake up and hear this! All stations attend! No one is to accept orders from Commander Chekhova without my express approval! Signify understanding!”
Everybody was awake, of course. In fact, they had been halfway to battle stations when Grounder had canceled the alarm. Now they responded from their cabins.
“Gunner A acknowledging, Captain.”
“Tailgunner acknowledging, Captain.”
“Gunner B acknowledging, sir.”
When the roster was completed, Harcourt turned his icy gaze on Ramona. She stood, fists clenched, face dark with fury at the public humiliation. “Captain Harcourt, this is insubordination of the worst sort!”
“No, Commander. Your action took that honor.”
“I am in charge of this mission, and you will have to maneuver as I prescribe in order for me to obtain the visual survey that I have been commanded to conduct!”
“And so I shall—within the margins of safety for this ship.” He stepped closer, too close, crowding her. “But you will issue all your orders to me, and through me, Commander—or I will place you on report on the instant, and confine you to quarters until we have completed the jumps to the Vukar Tag System. Is that understood?”
Ramona glared at him. It was a standoff, and she knew she should stand her ground…
But she knew it was quicksand, and she was sinking fast.
“Understood, Captain,” she grated. “I’ll wait till we get to Vukar Tag.”
The unspoken threat hovered in the air between them. They stood with gazes locked, every muscle tense.
Finally, Harcourt gave a curt nod. “Thank you, Commander. That will be all. Please return to your quarters.”
He stepped aside. Ramona marched past him, head high, chin up…
Until she reached her cabin.
There, she secured the door behind her, toggled her audio pickup to “Off,” then “Interrupt,” so that it could not be activated from the bridge…
And threw herself on her bunk, the sobs tearing at her throat.
The moment of disorientation passed, and Ramona stood up from her acceleration couch, a gleam in her eye. It had been a month, a month of staying in her cabin when she could. When she couldn’t, she had avoided the vindictive glances of the crew, enduring Harcourt’s brittle courtesy at table, and swallowing her pride.
Now, though, she would be in charge. She went to the door.
The cabin speaker came to life. “Commander Chekhova to the bridge, please,” Harcourt’s voice said. “Commander Chekhova to the bridge.”
It was a nice try at face-saving, but Ramona wasn’t about to let him get away with it. She marched out into the companionway and swept up toward the bridge.
Retribution was coming.
But retribution stalled at the bridge hatchway. As she stepped through, she saw it—the battle display, repaired and working all too well, alight with colored symbols that showed her the situation.
At the center, a green circle represented the Johnny Greene. Halfway to the rim, a yellow circle that represented Vukar Tag lay at two o’clock—but at the rim itself was another, much larger, yellow circle—swollen, a fat yellow dot lying near it, with fireflies hovering about.
“We seem to have arrived during war games,” Harcourt said, watching the display. “Makes sense, with a bunch of gung-ho pilots this far out in the boondocks, with nothing to do but chew their claws and go crazy aching to be back at the front lines, where they can earn some glory… Well, any commander would need to do something to keep their fighting skills up, not to mention keeping them from clawing out each other’s throats.”
“Yes.” Ramona’s mouth was dry. “He would.” Then, “So they have fighters stationed on the gas giant’s moon?”
“Artificial moon.” Harcourt nodded at Billy, who said, “The readings indicate an orbital station, Commander.”
Harcourt nodded. “At maximum velocity, they’d have no trouble at all cutting us off between Vukar Tag and the jump point, when we’re trying for our exit.” Finally, he turned and looked up at her. “Seems this planet is even better guarded than we knew.”
“Yes.” Ramona saw the chance to push a confrontation, and forced her attention sternly away from it. The mission came first. “Kind of strange, for a ball of sand and rock.”