And, finally, at the end of it all, you didn’t know which was your own anger, the genie you didn’t ever want to let out— couldn’t let out, if you were a scrawny twelve-year-old who’d been everyone’s kid only when you were wrong. You were reliably no one’s kid so long as you kept quiet and let nobody detect the pain.

God, he knew this kid. So well.

“That’s why you were sick at your stomach the morning we left Mariner. That’s why you wanted to go back and look for something. Isn’t it?”

“I could get a couple of tapes. So you wouldn’t know I got robbed. And I didn’t know what to do…” Jeremy’s teeth were knocking together. “I didn’t want you to leave, Fletcher. I don’t ever want you to leave.”

“I’ll try,” he said. “Best I can do.” Third shake at Jeremy’s ankle. “Adult lesson, kid. Sometimes there’s no fix. You just pick up and go on. I’m pretty good at it. You are, too. So let’s do it. Forget the stick. But don’t entirely forget it, you know what I mean? You learn from it. You don’t get caught twice.”

And the Old Man’s voice came on. “ This is James Robert ,” it began, in the familiar way. And then the Old Man added…

“… This is the last time I’ll be speaking as a captain in charge on the bridge .”

“God.” Color fled Jeremy’s face. He looked as if he’d been hit in the stomach a second time. “God. What’s he say?”

It didn’t seem to need a translation. It was a pillar of Jeremy’s life that just, unexpectedly, quit.

It was two blows inside the same hour. And Fletcher sat and listened, knowing that he couldn’t half understand what it meant to people who’d spent all their lives on Finity .

He knew the Alliance itself was changed by what he was hearing. Irrevocably.

“… There comes a time, cousins, when the reflexes aren’t as sharp, and the energy is best saved for endeavors of purely administrative sort, where I trust I shall carry out my duties with your good will. I will, by common consent of the captains as now constituted, retain rank so far as the outside needs to know. I make this announcement at this particular time, ahead of jump rather than after it, because I consider this a rational decision, one best dealt with the distance we will all feel on the other side of jump—where, frankly, I plan to think of myself as retired from active administration.

“ I reached this personal and public decision as a surprise even to my fellow captains, on whose shoulders the immediate decisions now fall. From now on, look to Madison as captain of first shift, Alan, of second, and Francie, of third. Fourth shift is henceforth under the capable hand of James Robert, Jr., who’ll make his first flight in command today, the newest captain of Finity’s End.”

The bridge was so still the ventilation fans and, in JR’s personal perception, the beat of his own heart, were the only background noise. He watched as the Old Man finished his statement and handed the mike to Com 1, who rose from his chair.

Others rose. In JR’s personal memory there had never been such a mass diversion of attention—when for a handful of seconds only Helm was minding the ship.

There were handshakes, well-wishes. There were tear-tracks on no few faces. There was a rare embrace, Madison of the Old Man.

And the Old Man, among others, came to JR to offer a hand in official congratulation. The Old Man’s grip was dry and cool in the way of someone so old.

“Bucklin will sit hereafter as first observer,” the Old Man said. “Jamie. You’ve grown halfway to the name.”

“A long way to go, sir,” JR said. “I’ll pass that word, to Bucklin, sir. Thank you.”

The Old Man quietly turned and began to leave the bridge, then.

And stopped at the very last, and looked at all of them, an image that fractured in JR’s next, desperately withheld blink.

“I’ll be in my office,” the Old Man said gruffly. “Don’t expect otherwise.”

Then he walked on, and command passed. JR felt his hands cold and his voice unreliable.

“Carry on,” Madison said. “Alan?”

Third shift left their posts. Fourth moved to take their places.

His crew, now. Helm 4 was gray-haired Victoria Inez. She’d be there, competent, quiet, steady. Not their best combat pilot: that was Hans, Helm 1. But if you wanted the velvet touch, the finesse to put a leviathan flawlessly into dock, that was Vickie.

The other captains left the bridge. The little confusion of shift change gave way to silence, the congestion in JR’s throat cleared with the simple knowledge work had to be done.

JR walked to the command station, reached down and flicked the situation display to number one screen. “Helm,” he said as steadily as he had in him. “And Nav. Synch and stand by.”

“Yessir,” the twin acknowledgements came to him.

He looked at the displays, the assurance of a deep, still space in which the radiation of the point itself was the loudest presence, louder than the constant output of the stars. They could still read the signature of two ships that had passed here on the same track, noisy, making haste.

No shots had been fired. Champlain had wasted no time in ambush.

Boreale had wasted no time in pursuit. The action, whatever it was, was at Esperance.

Before now, he’d made his surmises merely second-guessing the captain on the bridge. Now he had to act on them.

“Armscomp.”

“Yessir.”

“Synch with Nav and Helm, likeliest exit point for Champlain . Weapons ready Red.”

“Yes, sir.”

He authorized what only two Alliance ships were entitled to do: Finity and Norway alone could legally enter an inhabited system with the arms board enabled.

“Nav, count will proceed at your ready.”

“Yessir.”

Switches moved, displays changed. Finity’s End prepared for eventualities.

He did one other thing. He contacted Charlie, in medical, and ordered a standby on the Old Man’s office. Charlie, and his portable kit, went to camp in the outer office.

It was the captain’s discretion, to order such a thing. And he ordered it before he gave the order that launched Finity’s End for jump, and gave Charlie time to move.

They needed the Old Man, needed him so badly at this one point that he would order medical measures he knew the Old Man would otherwise decline.

One more port. One more jump. One more exit into normal space. The Old Man was pushing it hard with the schedule they’d set. And they had to get him there.

Chapter 23

There was silence from the other bunk, in the waiting.

“Kid,” Fletcher said after long thought. “You hear me?”

“Yeah.” Earplugs were in. They were riding inertial, in this interminable waiting, and they could see each other. Jeremy pulled out the right one.

“I’ve had time to think. I shouldn’t have blamed you about Chad. I picked that fight. Down in the skin. I hit him.”

“Yeah,” Jeremy said.

“Not your fault. Should have hit Sue.”

“You can’t hit Sue.”

“Yeah, well, Sue knows it, too.”

“You want to get her? I can get her.”

“I want peace in this crew, is what I want. You copy?”

“ Stand by ,” the word came from the bridge.

“Yessir,” was the meek answer. “I copy.”

Engines cut in.

Bunks swung.

“He’s never done this before!” Jeremy said. “Kind of scary.”

He thought so, too, though as he understood the way ships worked, he didn’t imagine JR with his hands on the steering. Or whatever it was up there. Around there… around the ring from where they were.

“ Good luck to us all ,” came from the bridge. “ Here we go, cousins. Good wishes, new captain, sir. Good wishes, Captain James Robert, Senior. You’re forever in our hearts .”