the smile off his face as he returned to his own station. But he couldnât help it. Yes, heâd made mistakes, but the ship and its cargo were theirs. Yana wrinkled her nose at him, and he felt his happy, relieved grin grow even wider.
Â
Tycho lay in his berth, listening to the thrum of the Comet âs engines and staring at the gray metal of the upper hull above his head. When heâd joined the bridge crew, heâd scratched his initials in the paint above his head, adding his own to those left by Hashoones who had called this cabin home before him.
Four bellsâit was 0600. Tycho gave up on trying to sleep. He couldnât stop replaying the intercept in his head, fuming at what heâd done wrong and trying to think of any possible explanation for why thereâd been a diplomat aboard.
He got up and activated the control for the cabin door, which retracted into the wall. The Shadow Comet âs top deck was divided into seven cabins. His parents shared the captainâs stateroom in the bow. Aft of that were two unused cabins. One hadnât been touched since his aunt Carina had abandoned it eleven years ago, while the other was used as an office. Then came the cabins belonging to Tycho and to Carlo, with the forward ladderwell leading down to the quarterdeck interrupting the passageway between their doors.
Aft of that, the passageway was split in two by an enclosed ladderwell connecting the top gun turret to belowdecks, with doors to the cuddy and galley on either side. If Tycho kept going aft, heâd find the head, an equipment bay, cabins belonging to Huff and Yana, the aft ladderwell, and a small auxiliary hold reserved for particularly valuable goods.
As Tycho had hoped, his father was in the cuddy, where the bridge crew ate, reviewing documents and drinking coffee from a thermos. Mavry looked up from his mediapad and gave his son a smile, inviting him to sit.
âYou should get some sleep,â Mavry said. âItâs a couple of days to Ceres.â
âI tried, Dad,â Tycho said. âBut I canât.â
âI understand,â his father said. âAfter you lead an intercept, it takes a while for your mind to stop going a hundred thousand klicks an hour.â
âYeah, exactly,â Tycho said with a grateful nod. He was thankful it was Mavry there in the cuddy and not Diocletia. He loved his mother, but she was the captain and the keeper of the Logâin which, for all he knew, his doubts and fears might be recorded.
âHow long was it before your mind stopped doing that afterward?â Tycho asked.
âStopped doing what?â Mavry asked.
âRunning like crazy after intercepts.â
Mavry smiled. âOh, it still does,â he said. âEvery time.â
Tycho looked surprised, then nodded.
âSo whatâs on your mind?â Mavry asked. âOr should I guess? Microphones, engine rooms and communications masts, and what in the name of the Galilean moons a diplomat was doing on that bridge?â
âThatâs pretty much it,â Tycho said.
âAnd how all this will look in the Log,â Mavry added.
Tycho didnât say anything but looked down at his lap, embarrassed.
âLet me put your mind at ease there, at least,â Mavry said. âNone of us knows what to make of this Mr. Soughton. Itâs as much a mystery to your mother and me as it is to you. Thereâs no penalty for having to deal with a mystery, Tychoâand you handled it as well as any of us could have. Certainly better than your grandfather would have.â
âI guess,â Tycho said. âBut I canât stop thinking about it anyway. And I know I shouldnât always think of it . . . but how am I doing? You know, overall?â
Mavry took a long swallow of coffee.
âIâm not the captain, Tycho,â he said.
âI know, Dad,â Tycho said. âBut you must have some
Elizabeth Amelia Barrington