The Service of the Sword

lies awake all ship's night, imagining all the horrible things that can, and very occasionally do, go wrong on the ship. He's also . . . egged on by some of the ship's company that have more of a sense of humor than common sense. Ribart, down in Engineering, is forever coming up with new things that 'need your prayers, Chaplain.' I've considered just tranking Ribart to get him off the ship, but that seems over the top. Then there's the automatic deference to chaplains that is instilled in Grayson at the bone.'

'I'll admit that after the morning prayer I'm a little . . . apprehensive. And I've never considered that an astrogator might just forget that there is a planet around. But I still think that what the Chaplain needs is a good lay; he seems really uptight.'

The chief grimaced and Sean realized what he'd said.

'I hadn't meant to impugn your faith, Chief . . .' Tyler said formally.

'Oh, it's not that,' the warrant replied wearily. 'You weren't here for the infamous STD incident.' Doc took a healthy slug of his tea and then poured a straight-up refill.

'STD?' Tyler said. 'I'm not sure what that stands for.'

'Sexually transmitted disease,' the warrant said dryly. 'I'm aware that they've been wiped out among the Manticorans, but they do occasionally crop up in Silesia. We had a little . . . incident on our last cruise that way. Let's just say the Chaplain was not one of those who did not contract it.'

Tyler looked at him questioningly and the warrant shrugged.

'Long story. Stupid story. Maybe some other time.'

The chief took another sip, obviously gathering his thoughts.

'It's like this—you know the Grayson Navy has expanded nearly fifty fold since we joined the Alliance?'

'I'm aware of that, Sir,' Tyler said. 'Is that part of it?'

'That's most of it,' Doc replied. 'Whenever you do that fast of an expansion, you get people who rise beyond their level of competence. When that is realized, if nobody gets killed by it, you have a few choices. You can demote the person, which requires a lot of paperwork and time by competent authorities, time which is in short supply. Or you can shuffle them off where they aren't going to be much of a bother. Are you getting my drift?'

'Oh.' Sean started to open his mouth and then closed it.

'And, yes,' the warrant said dryly, raising his cup, 'I'm included in that bunch. Whatever my competence as a doc, I've . . . got a bit of a drinking problem. So here I am, exiled to Siberia.'

'Well,' Tyler said with a laugh, 'at least the Exec has a sense of humor.'

'What do you mean?'

'Well,' Tyler said, grinning, 'when he said they should court-martial the navigation officer and sp—' He stopped when he saw the warrant officer's face. 'He was joking, right?'

'Nope,' the medic said, pulling out the bladder and taking a squirt from the neck. 'Welcome to Siberia, friend.'

'I think I'll have that drink now,' Tyler said weakly.

CHAPTER TWO THE CONSOLATIONS OF FAITH

'Tester, spare us this day from your Tests.

'Please don't let us slam into any celestial bodies, our souls to drift helplessly through the deeps of space as our families wonder what disaster has overtaken us and left us, Tester, bereft and alone, among the stars . . . 

'Tester, spare us this day from your Tests. 

'It's been three days now, Tester, and Astrogation is still trying to figure out where we are. If you could maybe see the way clear, Tester, to giving them a hint how to find our way back to Grayson before the air runs out or the environmental systems fail or one of the shuddering fusion reactors explodes, spreading our constituent atoms among the stars . . . 

'Tester, spare us this day from your Tests. 

'Tester, I understand that one of the beta nodes is looking pretty bad. If we lose it, Tester, please don't blast out the whole bank. We still don't know exactly where Grayson is, Tester, and we won't be able to send out a distress call that will be picked up unless we can send it in their direction. We don't want to die, Tester, drifting through the empty blackness of the Heavens, our bodies shriveled by vacuum, fighting like rabid dogs, Tester, over the compartments that still have air . . . 

CHAPTER THREE REACTIONS AND ALARUMS

Tyler was just stooging through the bridge, on his way to the missile tech's quarters where there were reports of illicit gambling being conducted, when the alarm went off.

The captain was on the bridge three seconds after the alarm started, in a crouch, looking as if he didn't know which way to run.

'Is that the reactor alarm?!' the captain yelled.

'You're the Captain,' Tyler said quietly, putting his hand over his eyes and mentally kissing his butt goodbye. 'You don't know?'

'Fusion Two is in alarm!' the engineering watch PO said. 'But there's no sign of the fault on my screens.'

'Prepare to jettison!' the captain yelled as the alarm shut off. 'Or not.' He cursed luridly and hit the button for Fusion Two.

'Two! What in the Sweet Merciful Tester's name is going on?!'

'Uh, sorry about that,' the talker replied. 'Kowalski dropped his coffee mug on the alarm switch.'

'Sir.'

'AH!'

The XO had just appeared behind the CO again, causing the already somewhat overwrought captain to nearly jump out of his skin. One of these days, Tyler was going to see the XO actually walk. So far, he appeared to travel by telekinesis. 'I recommend that we convene a summary court and space Spaceman Kowalski.'

'I don't think that will be necessary, Exec,' the captain panted. 'Tempting . . . but no. We'll talk about a