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know
what I can tell you.”
    “I’m
really not worried about the Starwolves, as long as I can get their attention
before they scorch my ship. It’s the things I can’t see that worry me more.”
     
    Captain
Tarrel returned to her ship a couple of hours later, having argued with the
refitting crew about the installation of external missile racks on
Carthaginian’s hull. Getting that had taken some persuasion on her part, since
the battleship already carried four dozen missiles in internal bays, and also
because the crew chief had been reluctant to give additional ordnance to a ship
on a diplomatic mission, and possibly also from reluctance to give weapons to a
ship that was likely doomed anyway. But Tarrel wanted weapons that she could
use without betraying her intentions by opening bays or powering up a system.
Any trick that she might have up her sleeve would be a great help, considering
the disadvantage she was at already.
    She
found that her crew had shrunk considerably in one respect, and grown somewhat
in others. She found herself with only three complete bridge crews, a basic
maintenance crew and a handful of other necessary specialists. Lake, forever
frugal, had left her with just enough to keep her ship running while risking
the fewest lives possible. Her crew had expanded by one, a rather clever but
harmless-looking young man, wearing the insignias of an executive officer, whom
she found sitting in her chair. Since she already had a second-in-command, the
rank of executive officer could mean just about anything from mission commander
to special advisor or observer. She decided that he was going to be an
observer, and he had better not observe anything from her chair ever again.
    “And
just who are you?” she asked sharply as she checked the progress reports on the
ship’s refitting.
    “Lieutenant
Commander Walter Pesca, reporting as ordered,” he responded briskly, affording
her a very snappy salute.
    Oh,
the bright and eager type. “Why are you on board my ship, Mister?”
    “I
was recommended as an advisor. I’m an alien contact specialist with extensive
training in linguistics. If you find new aliens, I’m supposed to learn how to
talk to them and try to guess whether they are telling the truth. If we end up
talking to Starwolves, I’m supposed to try to figure out their language so that
we can eavesdrop on them. Sector Commander Lake thought that you might find me
useful.”
    “You
might be useful,” she agreed guardedly, “but you are not a command officer. And
only command officers can sit in my chair.”
    “I
won’t forget, Captain.”
    “Since
you were sitting in my chair, do you know what happened to my first officer?”
Tarrel asked.
    “Right
behind you, Captain,” Chagin said, coming up behind her at that moment. “I was
just down checking the installation of the missile racks you wanted.”
    “You
know, those missile racks are not really a very good idea,” Pesca remarked
brightly, pleased to be helpful.
    Tarrel
glanced at him. “I found this person in my chair.” Pesca looked very nervous.
“There didn’t seem to be a senior officer on the bridge.”
    “There
doesn’t have to be a senior officer on the bridge when the ship is secure at
station,” she told him. “And like I said, you’re not a command officer anyway.
Have you ever been on board a ship before?”
    “Yes,
of course!” he insisted in injured tones. “I’ve traveled on the couriers many
times.”
    “Couriers?
That’s like tourist class,” Tarrel exclaimed. “Did Commander Lake choose you for
this mission personally?” “Yes, I believe so.”
    Tarrel
shook her head slowly. “You know, I’ve just become aware of a plot to
assassinate the Sector Commander. Assuming that I survive to come back for him.
Chagin, has anyone sent down word about where they expect us to find this
monstrosity?” “Captain, that information was given to me to relay to you,”
Pesca offered hopefully, seeming more sure of