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“Mitch pointed out that the graphic only shows what failed, sar.”

He nodded for me to continue.

“He suggested we should look at what didn’t fail.”

Mr. von Ickles went absolutely still—like a freeze framed holo. I don’t think he even blinked or breathed for almost a tick. “Obviously,” he said at last.

I shrugged. “You see my dilemma, sar.”

“How to track what didn’t fail.”

“Yes, sar.”

“What an interesting observation. What was his rationale for that? Did he say?”

“Mitch, sar? He said something like, ‘When we started bringing up the ShipNet, lots of stuff was just waiting for us to power it back up. Maybe you should look at what didn’t fail.’ I can’t be sure of his exact words, but that’s the gist of it.”

“He’s right,” Mr. von Ickles said. “And it is obvious,” he added with a grin.

I saw it then, or rather heard it as I played back in my brain what I had just said,
waiting for us to power it back up.

Mr. von Ickles must have seen the revelation spread across my face. “Exactly, Mr. Wang.”

“Obviously, Mr. von Ickles.”

I started digging through the logs again—just as before, there was a lot of data.

First section relieved us on time and we grabbed breakfast before setting navigation detail. I saw Mr. von Ickles having a conversation with Mr. Maxwell, Mr. Kelley, and the captain. At one point, Mr. Kelley said “Mitch?” in disbelief so I knew what they were talking about. While they chatted, I brought up the systems schematic and started monitoring the communications traffic the way Mr. von Ickles had shown me on the way out of Betrus. Eight weeks of watches with my head in the console—sometimes literally—had been an education in its own right. I knew I had a knack for dealing with what my mother had called, “the damn devil box” but working with Mr. von Ickles had shown me new levels that I had not known existed. I sucked it up like a sponge. It was hard work, but it was fun as well. I rather enjoyed the idea of being paid to play.

There was the same kind of performance on the bridge as we docked as there had been when we set out. But this time it slowly unraveled as we furled the sails, retracted the grav-keel, and shut down systems. The kickers came online and nudged us to where the tugs would be able to guide us in. Eventually, the nose of the
Lois
just kissed the docking ring and the locking clamps snapped down to make us part of the structure of the station itself. It seemed like such a delicate grasp to hold the mass of the ship and cargo but it did the job. Finally, we secured the systems and the ship came to rest.

“Make the announcement, Mr. Pa,” the captain said. “Secure from navigation detail. First section has the watch.”

She waited for Fong to finish before turning to her first mate. “You may declare liberty at your discretion, Mr. Maxwell.”

“Thank you, Captain. Make the announcement, Mr. Pa.”

Mr. von Ickles surprised me by stepping up to my station and saying, “I wonder if you would be able to meet me at the lock in about a stan, Mr. Wang? I have a little procurement problem I’d like your help with.”

“Of course, sar.” Frankly, I was a little disappointed. I’d been hoping to grab some bunk time before heading up to the flea market to see what Niol had to offer, but Mr. von Ickles was always good for a surprise.

Bev had the watch and checked us out with a sly grin. “You watch out for him, Mr. von Ickles.”

“Oh?” he said. “Why is that, Ms. Arith?”

“You’ve been working with him for the last eight weeks and you have to ask, sar?”

“I see your point, Ms. Arith, and I’ll take your warning under advisement.”

I grabbed a shower, changed into civvies, and met him at the lock. As we reflected on Bev’s comments we both were chuckling as we stepped out into the stinging cold of the docks. We headed for the lifts and I still had no idea what was up. “Excuse me, sar, but can I ask where we’re going?”

“Lee,” he said.

“Excuse me, sar?”

“Try, ‘Excuse me, Lee,’ Ishmael,” he said. “We’re off the ship and off-duty, so I think we can leave all that
sar
stuff at the lock, don’t you?”

“I think we can, yes.” For some reason I was inordinately pleased with this.”

“After all, you didn’t call Alicia Alvarez ‘sar’ when you were on station, did you?”

“Well, not in the bar,” I replied.

“Not in the bar—” he began, and then stopped and looked at me. “You never cease to amaze me, Ishmael.”

We’d reached the lift and got in. Mr. von Ickles—Lee—punched the oh-two button.

“We’re going to purchase something down on the oh-two level?” I asked.

“Yep,” he said with a grin.

After a moment, he turned to me and asked, “You called her sar?”

“Well, not in the bar.”

The lift stopped on oh-two and we got off. It was mid afternoon station time, and my internal clock reeled in confusion, having been up all night for the mid-watch, and all morning with navigation detail. I was thinking that lunch sounded good, but station time would indicate something more like dinner.

I followed Lee around to port and he ducked into a quiet bar not terribly far from the lift. The sign over the door said:
Shaunessey’s
. The interior was wrapped in dark wood—along with not-quite-leather. It looked good and I began to understand what Lee wanted help procuring.

We settled at a table and he ordered a small pitcher of a medium ale. “You don’t mind helping me with this beer, do you?” he asked.

“It’s kinda early in the day, isn’t it?”

“Well, we’ve been working for the last ten stans, we’re off-duty, and it’s coming up on evening here. I think we’ve earned it,” he said. “Your objection is based on what?”

“Since you put it that way, I guess it’s based on nothing more than the artificial constraints of an arbitrary time frame.”

“Exactly my point, Ishmael.” The waitress brought the pitcher and Lee did the honors with a certain amount of flair and obvious expertise.

“You called her sar?” he asked again as he was pouring.

“Well, only when she gave me an order,” I told him.

“When she gave you an order?” he shook his head and pushed a glass in my direction.

I shrugged. “She was quite demanding. I did my very best to comply.”

“I bet you did, Ishmael.” He raised his glass and toasted, “To satisfying demanding women!”

I tapped my glass to his and drank deeply. That was a toast I could get behind.

We settled back for what looked like would be a rather extensive session of procurement. He asked, “So, tell me what happened in environmental?”

I filled him in while we finished the pitcher and ordered a second. He laughed at the part where Sarah reminded him about the
Matthew
.

“Did we ever get that packet from them, by the way?” I asked.

“You mean an answer from the
Boulton
?”

“Yeah, did they respond?”

Lee shrugged. “It was rather non-committal actually. They were having disciplinary problems with him and there had been a couple of close calls in environmental. Basically what we ran into.”

“But?” I prompted.

“But there was nothing in his personnel jacket—which we already knew—and the Chief Engineer just said that there was no evidence of foul play.”

“Absence of evidence—” I began.

“Exactly.”

“Did they try to fire him?” I asked.

“They were going to give him one more leg to shape up or ship out. Then he was injured, and he’s been sponging off the company ever since.”

“So much for my conspiracy theories.”

“Maybe yes, maybe no,” he said over the rim of his beer.

“Oh?” I asked and I really liked the
tell-me-more
quality of my reply. The practice was beginning to pay off.

“Well, there are no Colby’s on the board or anything,” he started.

“But?”

“His mother is Charlotte Colby of the New Farnouk Colby’s?”

“Beyond Federated Freight’s home office being on New Farnouk, that doesn’t mean anything to me.” I shrugged. “I’m a bumpkin, remember?”

“High society, VIP on the New Farnouk circuit,” he said.

“I think I see where you’re going.”

“Ex-mistress of Alvin T. Merrick,” he said.

“The Chairman of the Board of New Farnouk Development Corp, Alvin T. Merrick?” I asked.

“Small galaxy, huh?”

“Would he have interfered?”

Lee shrugged. “Dunno, but if he did get involved, it wouldn’t be pretty.”

“Merrick might not be his father,” I pointed out.

“True,” he agreed and sipped his beer, “but I’m still glad we don’t have to find out.”

“Amen!” I toasted. We clinked, drained, and put the glasses down.

He nodded and we stood up and headed back to the ship.

As we approached the lock he turned to me, “Thanks, Ish. I hate to drink alone.”

“You’re welcome, Lee. Any time I can help out with these little procurement issues of yours, please let me know. Next time, I’ll buy.”

He keyed the lock and said, almost admiringly, “You called her sar.”

“It seemed only polite under the circumstances.”

Third section had the day watch our second day in Niol. I used the time to finish the data extractions for the log entries on systems that had shut down cleanly. I had the new data plugged into the time-delay model by the end of the watch.

It was odd working on the bridge with the ship docked. I had gotten used to the dimness of the lighting while underway. When in port, the light reflecting off the orbital’s bathed the area in a glaring illumination. It was rather thrilling to see the ships docked on either side of us. The dock to port had been empty when we had arrived but the
Josiah Wedgwood
occupied the next berth beyond. The
John C. Calhoun
rested to starboard and I smiled, remembering of our last night back in Dunsany Roads.

I wasn’t alone on the bridge. Salina Matteo was on third section and her station was there as well. She was a short woman who wore her hair longer than any spacer I had met. Not that it was long, by any means, but when almost everybody else wore their hair in one close-trimmed configuration or another, her page-boy cut seemed very long by comparison. She had one of those smiles that peaked out and disappeared again, never lasting for long, but was thoroughly enchanting when displayed. She was also one of the older spacers in the crew. I thought she was nearly as old as Francis—probably in her middle forties—which put her, I realized with a shock, at the same age as my mother.

Salina had relieved second section by the time I got up there, since I stopped at the office to check in with Mr. von Ickles. She already had her ship status updates running for the next few legs of the trip and smiled a greeting. It was pleasant having the place to ourselves, each engaged in our own routines.

By noon I finally had all log transactions that recorded systems shutdown events extracted and loaded into my delayed time display. I flashed a copy of it down to Mr. von Ickles in the office before Salina and I went down to get some lunch.

Stepping onto the mess deck was more like the in-port mealtimes I had remembered than those we experienced the last few days at Betrus. Sarah had the duty in the galley and she was decorating an elaborate cake that I assumed would be dessert for dinner, since the lunch buffet already had one of Cookie’s granapple cobblers on it. The crew had money and most were out spending it, leaving the mess deck practically deserted. It was comforting in a way, but also a bit troubling. An extra couple of days in-port made a big difference to so many of them. It seemed odd to me. Even ignoring the creds that Pip and I made trading I was never in danger of running out during our port stays. Most people must burn through a lot of creds.

I felt a little awkward eating with Salina since I really didn’t know her very well. We had spent the morning together working in silence on the bridge, though, and we were the only ones on the mess deck, so it would have been rude to sit someplace else. She was easy to be with, even if we didn’t talk much. Every once in a while she had one those little, flashing smiles.