A Question
Of Courage
Illustrated by FINLAY
By J. F. BONE
I smelled the trouble the moment I stepped on
the lift and took the long ride up the side of
the "Lachesis." There was something wrong. I
couldn't put my finger on it but
five years in the Navy gives aman a feeling for these things.From the outside the ship wasbeautiful, a gleaming shaft ofduralloy, polished until sheshone. Her paint and brightworkglistened. The antiradiationshields on the gun turrets andlaunchers were folded back exactlyaccording to regulations.The shore uniform of the liftmanwas spotless and he stood at hisstation precisely as he should.As the lift moved slowly up pastno-man's country to the life section,I noted a work party hangingprecariously from a scaffoldingsmoothing out meteorite pitsin the gleaming hull, while on thecatwalk of the gantry standingbeside the main cargo hatch asteady stream of supplies disappearedinto the ship's belly.
I returned the crisp salutes ofthe white-gloved sideboys, salutedthe colors, and shook handswith an immaculate ensign withan O.D. badge on his tunic.
"Glad to have you aboard,sir," the ensign said.
"I'm Marsden," I said. "LieutenantThomas Marsden. I haveorders posting me to this ship asExecutive."
"Yes, sir. We have been expectingyou. I'm Ensign Halloran."
"Glad to meet you, Halloran."
"Skipper's orders, sir. You areto report to him as soon as youcome aboard."
Then I got it. Everything wasSOP. The ship wasn't taut, shewas tight! And she wasn't happy.There was none of the devil-may-carespirit that marks crewsin the Scouting Force and separatesthem from the stodgy massof the Line. Every face I saw onmy trip to the skipper's cabinwas blank, hard-eyed, and unsmiling.There was none of thehuman noise that normallyechoes through a ship, no laughter,no clatter of equipment, nodeviations from the order andprecision so dear to admirals'hearts. This crew was G.I. rightdown to the last seam tab ontheir uniforms. Whoever theskipper was, he was either buckingfor another cluster or a cold-feelingautomaton to whom theNavy Code was father, mother,and Bible.
The O.D. stopped before theclosed door, executed a mechanicalright face, knocked the prescribedthree times and openedthe door smartly on the heels ofthe word "Come" that eruptedfrom the inside. I stepped in followedby the O.D.
"Commander Chase," the O.D.said. "Lieutenant Marsden."
Chase! Not Cautious CharleyChase! I could hardly look at theman behind the command desk.But look I did—and my heartdid a ninety degree dive straightto the thick soles of my spaceboots. No wonder this ship wassour. What else could happenwith Lieutenant CommanderCharles Augustus Chase in command!He was three classes upon me, but even though he wasa First Classman at the time Icrawled out of Beast Barracks, Iknew him well. Every Midshipmanin the Academy knew him—Rule-BookCharley—By-The-NumbersChase—his nicknameswere legion and not one of themwas friendly. "Lieutenant ThomasMarsden reporting for duty,"I said.
He looked at the O.D. "That'llbe all, Mr. Halloran," he said.
"Aye, sir," Halloran saidwoodenly. He stepped backward,saluted, executed a precise aboutface and closed the hatch softlybehind him.
"Sit down, Marsden," Chasesaid. "Have a cigarette."
He didn't say, "Glad to haveyou aboard." But other than thathe was Navy right down to the