Ship's Log: November 9

Fear studied the diagnostic display suspended above the young woman's bed. The ensign would survive, it seemed, but it was too soon to tell in what condition that might be. Diaz had regained consciousness a few times, mumbled incoherently and then lapsed back into oblivion. The medical officer stared at the young ensign, but her thoughts were somewhere else entirely.

It was too easy, she considered. I should have seen that. Her eyes focused again on the unconsciousness woman. She would have been interrogated anyway. Fear paused. A diversion? she wondered. For what? To hide the actual evidence of betrayal? She knew it could not have been for escape. It was almost impossible, particularly now, for someone to leave the ship without being noticed.

She waited impatiently for a report from the Tactical Officer, Hawkes. More than once, her thoughts turned to the possibility that Pyrafox was the one who had aided the Captain in her escape. Delivering Diaz as the traitor would divert attention from him. If she had died during interrogation—a likely possibility—without revealing anything, it would have left doubt and uncertainty behind. She also recognized the possibility that the Captain might have more than one ally among the crew. If she could find one, it was likely she could reveal them all—but there were no guarantees.

Walking over to her desk console, she once again reviewed the access logs for the area where Banks had found the damaged regulator. The list was short, but every one of the technicians on the list had a valid—or purportedly so—reason for being in that section. Was it Banks herself? Fear wondered. Hoping to divert attention from herself?

From what she knew of the young lieutenant, it did not seem likely. Fear's own personal observations were that Banks was far more loyal to the Chief Engineer than to the Captain. Although her initial behavior after being assigned to the Sapphire Night had bordered on hero worship for the Captain, that had changed abruptly after the incident that cost Banks her arm. It was more likely, Fear guessed, that Banks held a personal grudge against Devereux, making it unlikely that the lieutenant would interfere with a move against her. Although she might want the Captain off the ship . . . Fear considered. But wouldn't she prefer her dead?

Human psychology is so . . . inconsistent, she reflected, staring at the list again. Still, she made a mental note that a conversation with the engineering technician might prove productive. A soft chime came from her console.

"Yes?"

"We have the sensor data you asked for . . . finally," Thompson's voice said over the speaker. She could imagine him staring at the responsible crewman with undisguised annoyance and loathing.

"Transfer it here," she ordered. There was a brief pause as she heard the First pass along the instructions.

"Done," he confirmed.

She checked the console to verify that it had received the data. She waited, wondering why the channel remained open. A slight smile crossed her dark lips. In her mind, she could picture Thompson standing there, impatient, but unwilling to address her directly.

"First," she said with a tone that normally preceded a new order.

"Yes, Doctor?" he responded with a tone that did little to completely hide his resigned irritation. He only used her title when he was either annoyed or impressed by her actions. The former happened with far greater frequency.

"You are relieved," She said and closed the channel abruptly.

She understood why Devereux had chosen Thompson as her First. He was reasonably intelligent, but lacking Devereux's often-brilliant strategic abilities. He tended to rely on his brawn rather than brains to get what he wanted. He was a tall, powerfully built figure, with an attitude that bordered on contemptuous arrogance. Surely imposing to some, she knew, and preferred to dress to accentuate his well-muscled frame. Much of the crew deferred to him chiefly because of the physical threat he represented—and he had demonstrated it often enough for that to be a sensible concern. His off-duty pleasures, as well, had brought their share of crewmembers into her infirmary.

According to his service records, he had possessed positions of considerable authority, but he had never been placed in command of a ship of his own. Fear had no doubt of his aspirations in that direction, but he had so far chosen not to act on them. He had demonstrated no particular loyalty to the Captain Devereux, following her orders only because it was his place to do so. Fear considered that perhaps he might have become too comfortable in his position, not wishing to forgo his pleasures for the constant vigilance of command. Still, she did not trust him. Although displeased with the idea, she thought, I should bond him to me. While not infallible, it would significantly reduce the danger he represented. And, I need someone loyal to me. She suspected that, even with him bound to her, it might not be sufficient to ensure his allegiance.

He bears careful watching, regardless, she told herself. The Captain's departure might reawaken his ambitions. She doubted that he had contributed to her escape. He was more likely to murder her outright rather than chance that she might return to challenge him.

Who is the traitor then?

#

Thompson turned to face the Second with an angry glare. Lieutenant Singh regarded him with dark, composed eyes. His expression betrayed nothing beneath his coffee-colored skin. Thompson considered striking him just because he could, but there was something about the man that stopped him. He had long suspected the Second was not as placid as he appeared and, being next in the chain of command, no doubt evaluated his opportunities for advancement at every opportunity. So far, though, Singh had given Thompson no justifiable reason to remove him. He preferred a clean fight—it avoided so many unpleasant questions later.

He left the bridge, making his way toward his quarters. His mood darkened further as he realized that Fear had interrupted his search for a companion for the night. He had little intention of spending it alone, definitely feeling the need to release some his unexpressed frustrations. He briefly considered a session in the practice room, but few crewmembers were a match for his strength. He felt the need for a true victory, not a contest easily won.

Entering his quarters, he activated the lights and unfastened the sash around his tunic. He removed both, tossing them on one of the nearby chairs. He stood before the full-length mirror, stretching, admiring the smooth motion of muscles along his forearms and chest. He pulled off his boots and then removed the lower portion of his uniform, watching the movement of his thickly-muscled legs, and smiled. Walking to the small closet, he gathered the pieces of his uniform and put them away neatly. He surveyed his off-duty clothing choice with a slight frown, thinking that at his next chance he needed to increase the variety.

He settled on a fawn-colored shirt that left his arms bare, slit with a "V" partway down the chest. In addition, he selected a dark set of loose-fitting trousers, but not too baggy. He checked his reflection again, satisfied that they provided sufficient evidence of his carefully-sculpted form. Sliding into a pair of dark slippers, he headed out into the corridor.

He decided to start first with the galley. A portion of the crew would also be off-duty and gathered there for a meal and companionship. He might find a likely companion there and, if nothing else, he could at least satisfy his hunger for food. If no one there appealed to him, he would head for the training room. There was almost always someone there who fit his mood—and his needs.

A hush fell like a blanket over the galley as he entered. He fought back a smile, although pleased that his presence carried such impact. The group near the serving area parted for him and he selected portions from several of the containers. He nodded with approval at the choices for the evening. Apparently the kitchen crew had received word of his displeasure and had planned the meal selections accordingly.

His tray balanced in one hand, he looked for a suitable place to sit. Most of the tables were filled, although some of the crewmembers appeared poised for flight if he approached their places. He spied a table back toward one bulkhead where two female crewmembers were engaged in conversation. His attention was drawn toward them. Apparently, they felt that they were far enough away as to not attract his interest, or they both possessed little concern over his presence. Either possibility intrigued him.

He moved toward the table, making a minimum of noise. Around him, he could sense the eyes of the others following him, dancing between him and the pair of women already seated there. One of them looked up as he approached, her eyes widening only slightly. Her green eyes sparkled in the harsh overhead lighting, her long hair given a copper-colored cast. She nudged her companion, who looked up with more obvious surprise, and both started to rise.

"At ease," he said, offering them a smile that he hoped was warm and did not betray his more predatory intentions. He placed his tray on the table and sat down. The two women regained their seats, waiting in quiet anticipation. Neither of them returned to their meal.

"Please," he said, picking up a fork and gesturing toward their trays with it, "continue with your meal."

A nervous glance passed between them. Each picked up a utensil, loaded it with food, but neither ate while they watched the First.

He felt a mild wash of exasperation. He desired company, not silence. He began eating, silently surveying the two women. They avoided eye contact, looking chiefly at their trays or other places in the dining area. The one with the reddish hair had pale skin and a narrow face, but sufficiently rounded that she was not at all unattractive. From what Thompson could see, her figure was slight, but nicely developed. Her lips parted in a way he found very appealing, his thoughts moving to the uses to which she might use them. The other woman's hair was a pale blonde, falling in straight lines just above her shoulders. Her eyes were a silvery-blue. Her skin was slighter darker than her companion's. Her lips were fuller. The curves of her body were similar to the other woman, but more firm and pronounced.

He considered the virtues of each, wishing they would speak so he could better judge which might make the better companion for the evening. And then he paused, a smile coming to his dark complexion. Why did he need to choose?