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brief me on the ship's status."
    Within minutes, Siobhan's heart began to sink.  The Stingray was in bad shape and deteriorating fast.
    "Why the long list of repairs?"  The Captain's voice was loud in the silent engine room.  Before she could reply, Siobhan continued, her volatile temper gaining the upper hand.  "Most of these problems you can fix yourself.  All you need is to request the necessary parts.  The ship has been in port for some time now.  Did you do anything to put her back to rights?"
    "Ah,"  Tiner floundered under the intense stare, "yes sir, we did a few minor fixes, but there - ah - was some question whether we would be decommissioned, sir."
    "As you can deduce, this ship will remain in service.  Therefore, I suggest you start work, and the sooner the better.  I expect my Chief Engineer to keep the ship running, not running for excuses."
    "Ah, yes sir, but -"
    "That will be all, Mister Tiner."
    When the Chief Engineer returned to the privacy of her office, she found herself shaking uncontrollably, as if Dunmoore had jolted her with a live feed from the reactor.  It didn't matter that she'd had no choice under Captain Forenza.  The ship was in a lousy state and Tiner knew it.  She ran a thick, callused hand through her hair and sighed.  How she was going to get out of this mess with her career intact, she did not know.
     
    By the time Siobhan returned to her cabin, she felt a pounding migraine grow behind her eyes.  Pushing it aside as best she could, she turned on the intercom.
    "Captain to bridge."
    "Bridge," Devall's languid voice replied. "OOW."
    "Mister Devall, send out an immediate recall for all crewmembers currently ashore. Leave is cancelled as of this moment.  No one is to leave the ship unless it's on business.  And track down the First Officer."
    "Aye, aye, sir."
    "I want a status report in two hours.  Captain out."
    Without bothering to unpack her bags, Siobhan Dunmoore carefully lay down on the bed and closed her eyes.  But wishing didn't make the migraine disappear, no more than it made the Stingray disappear.
    On any other vessel, the arrival of a new captain meant a masthead to keel scrubbing, the full manning of the harbour watch and a proper side party to greet her.  Instead, she saw a warship all but abandoned by people who had stopped caring.  Whoever had logged her message had kept the information a closely guarded secret, knowing the blame would fall elsewhere.

THREE
    The intercom woke Dunmoore from a restless nap.  She sat up too quickly, triggering a wave of nausea and she retched miserably, fighting to keep down the bitter, half-digested remains of breakfast.
    "Captain, the First Officer has reported aboard.  He's on his way to your quarters.  Seven crewmembers are still unaccounted for."
    "Good.  Advise the shore patrol to arrest the missing people and deliver them to our airlock.  Let me know when they've been handed over.  And ask the Cox'n to stand by.  I'll see him after I speak with the First Officer."
    "Aye, aye, sir."
    "Captain, out."
    With an effort of will, Siobhan arranged her uniform.  Then, she carefully sat behind her desk and waited.  The wait wasn't very long.
    "Come," she called out when the doorbell chimed.
    A stocky, powerful looking man in his late thirties stepped into her cabin and came to attention in front of her desk.  His square face was dominated by dark, hooded eyes that stared at her warily.  He seemed older than Siobhan but as tired and discouraged as she felt.
    "Lieutenant-Commander Pushkin reporting to the Captain as ordered."  The First Officer saluted stiffly.  His tone was clipped, his words precise, but he sounded strained.  "I apologize I wasn't aboard when you arrived."
    Dunmoore returned the salute.  "Sit down, Mister Pushkin."
    "I wasn't aware you'd be arriving this morning, sir."
    "I sent a message to the ship yesterday, when the courier docked.  It has been logged in."
    "The message wasn't passed on to me,