“Waiting,” the Old Man said, “for me to fall apart.”

“No, sir. Sitting here, wondering if you were going to want hot sauce. They didn’t put it on the tray.”

The Old Man shot him a look. The spark was back in his eye, hard and brilliant.

“You’ll do fine,” the Old Man said. “You’ll do fine, Jamie.”

“I hope to, sir, some years from now, if you’ll kindly take the vitamins.”

“In my good time,” the Old Man said in a surly tone. “God. Where’s respect?”

“For the living, sir. Take both packets.”

“Out. Out! You’re worse than Madison.”

“I hope so, sir.” He saw what reassured him, the vital sparkle in the eyes, the lift in the voice. Adrenaline was up. “I’d suggest you leave the transit to jump to Alan and Francie. Sir.”

“Jamie, get your insufferable youth back to work. I’ll be at Esperance. I’m not turning a hand on this run until I have to.”

“Yes, sir,” he said, glad of the rally—and heartsick with what he’d learned.

“Out. Tell Madison he’s got the entry duty. With first shift.”

And not at all happy.

“I’m moving everybody up,” the Old Man said with perfect calm. “I’m retiring after this next run. You’re to take Francie’s post. Madison will take mine.”

“Sir…”

“I think I’m due a retirement. At a hundred forty-nine or whatever, I’m due that. I’ll handle negotiations. Administrative passes to the next in line. Filling out forms, signing orders. That’s all going to be Madison’s, Jamie-lad. As you’ll be junior-most of the captains. And welcome to it. I’m posting you. At Esperance.”

The Old Man had surprised him many a time. Never like this.

“I’m not ready for this!”

The Old Man had a sip of coffee. And gave a weak laugh, “Oh, none of us are, Jamie. It’s vanity, really, my hanging on, waiting for an arbitrary number, that hundred and fifty. It’s silliness. I’m getting tired, I’m not doing my job on all fronts, I’m delegating to Madison as is: he’ll do the nasty administrative things and I do what I do best, at the conference table. Senior diplomat. I rather like that title. Don’t you think?”

“I’ll follow orders, sir.”

“Good thing. Fourth captain had damned well better. Meanwhile you’ve things to clean up before you trade in A deck.”

Fletcher. The theft. All of that. And for the first time in their lives he’d be separated from Bucklin, who’d be in charge of the juniors until Madison himself retired. He’d be taking over fourth shift, dealing with seniors who’d seen their competent, life-long captain bumped to third.

He felt as if someone had opened fire on him, and there was nothing to do but absorb the hits.

“Well?” the Old Man said

“Yes, sir. I’m thinking I’ve got mop-up to do. A lot of it.”

“Better talk to Francie. You’ll be going alterday shift, when ops is in question. Better talk to Vickie, too.” That was Helm 4. “You’ve shadowed Francie often enough.”

At the slaved command board—at least five hundred hours, specifically with Francie. During ship movement, maybe a hundred. He had no question of his preparation in terms of ship’s ops. In terms of his preparation in basic good sense he had serious doubts.

“Yes, sir,” he said.

“Jamie,” the Old Man said.

“Yes, sir?”

“The plus is… I get to see my succession at work. I get to know it will do all right. There’s no greater gift you can give me than to step in and do well. Fourth shift will do Esperance system entry. You’ll sub for Francie on this jump. We’ll hold the formalities after we’ve done our work there. King George can wait for his party. We’ll have occasion for our own celebration if we pull this off. We’ll be posting a new captain.”

Breath and movement absolutely failed him for a moment. He had no words, in the moment after that, except, quietly: “Yes, sir.”

One hour, thirty-six minutes remaining, when Fletcher stood showered and dressed; and the prospect just of opening the cabin door and taking a fast walk around the corridor was delirious freedom. Jeremy was eager for it; he was; and they joined the general flow of cousins from A deck ops on their way to a hot pick-up meal and just the chance to stretch legs and work the kinks out of backs grown too used to lying in the bunk. They fell in with some of the cousins from cargo and a set from downside ops, all the way around to the almost unimaginably intense smells from the galley.

“I could eat the tables,” a cousin said as they joined the fast-moving line. Jeremy had a fruit bar with him. He was that desperate. Everyone’s eyes were shadowed, faces hollowed, older cousins’ skin showed wrinkles it didn’t ordinarily show. Everyone smelled of strong soap and had hair still damp.

Two choices, cheese loaf with sauce or souffle. They’d helped make the souffle the other side of Voyager and Fletcher decided to take a chance on that; Jeremy opted for the same, and they settled down in the mess hall for the pure pleasure of sitting in a chair. Vince and Linda joined them, having started from the mess hall door just when they’d sat down, and Jeremy nabbed extra desserts. Seats were at a premium. The mess hall couldn’t seat all of A deck at once. They wolfed down the second desserts, picked up, cleaned up, surrendered the seats to incoming cousins, and headed out and down the way they’d come.

“Can I borrow your fish tape?” Jeremy asked Linda as they walked.

“I thought you bought one,” Linda said.

“I put it back,” Jeremy said, and Fletcher thought that was odd: he thought he recalled Jeremy paying for it at the Aquarium gift shop. Jeremy had bought some tapes and a book, and he’d have sworn—

He saw trouble coming. Chad, and Sue, and Connor, from down the curve.

“Don’t say anything,” he said to his three juniors. “They’re out for trouble. Let them say anything they want.”

“They’re jerks,” Vince said.

The group approached, Sue passed, Chad passed—they were going to use their heads, Fletcher thought, and keep their mouths shut.

Then Connor shoved him, and he didn’t think. He elbowed back and spun around on his guard, facing Chad.

“You turn us in?” Chad asked. “You get us confined to quarters?”

“Wasn’t just you,” Fletcher retorted, and reminded himself he didn’t want this confrontation, and that Chad might be the leader and the appointed fighter in the group, but he didn’t conclude any longer that Chad was entirely the instigator. “We all got the order. You and I need to talk.” A cousin with her hands full needed by and they shifted closer together to let her by. Jeremy took the chance to get in the middle and to push at Fletcher’s arm.

“Fletcher. Come on. We’re still in yellow. They’ll lock us down for the next three years if you two fight, come on, cut it out.”

“Got your defender, do you?” Connor said, and shoved him a second time.

“Cut it!” Jeremy said, and Fletcher reached out and hauled him aside, firmly, without even feeling the effort or breaking eye contact with Chad.

“You and I,” Fletcher said, “have something to talk about.”

“I’m not interested in talk,” Chad said. “I’ll tell you exactly how it was. You came on board late, you didn’t like the scut jobs, you didn’t like taking orders, and you found a way to make trouble. For all we know, there never was any hisa stick.”

“Was, too!” Jeremy said. “I saw it.”

“All right,” Chad said. “There was. Doesn’t make any difference. Fletcher knows where it is. Fletcher always knew, because he put it there, and he’s going to bring down hell on our heads and be the offended party, and we give up our rec hours running around in the cold while he sits back and laughs.”

“That isn’t the way it is,” Fletcher said. “I don’t know who did it. That’s your problem. But I didn’t choose it.” Another couple of cousins wanted by, and then a third, fourth and fifth from the other direction. “We’re blocking traffic.”