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later, the speaker crackles with electric life: “Fowles here—we found it! We’ve burned out one of the phase adapters.”
    Brandt looks at Korie, mildly surprised. “Good guess.” Korie shrugs it off.
    Another voice on the intercom. “All right, bring it in. We’ll uncrate a spare.”
    At this, the first officer unclips a hand mike from his belt. “Engine room, this is Korie.”
    The same voice, Leen’s voice, “Yes, sir?”
    “You seem to be awfully free with the ship’s stores, Chief Leen.”
    “Beg pardon, sir?”
    “Do you know how much one of those adapters costs?”
    “Yes, sir, of course.”
    “Good. Now let me ask you—why would one of them burn out?”
    “I assume that’s a rhetorical question, Mr. Korie. You already know the answer.”
    “That’s a very astute observation on your part, Chief.” Korie smiles thinly. “Yes, I do know. Do you? ”
    “Improper compensation of inherent velocity.” The reply is quick and sure. “Either in the phase alternators or—”
    “Or lack of compensation altogether,” Korie says harshly. “It’s an easy thing to overlook.” He continues with staccato precision,“But somebody did overlook it. And because of that we may have lost a kill. From here it looks like somebody in the engine room has very little respect for this ship and its equipment. And that’s something that I absolutely will not allow.”
    He becomes suddenly aware of Brandt’s quiet gaze on him, continues quickly, “You’re responsible for that engine room, Leen—and the people in it. Our lives depend on how well you and your crew maintain this ship!”
    Leen is making apologetic noises. “It won’t happen again, sir.”
    “It had better not.”
    “You have my word on it.”
    “Hm, we’ll see.” Korie glances at Brandt; the captain is expressionless. “All right, get on with the repairs.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    Korie disconnects and clips the hand mike back to his belt, grimly unsatisfied.
    “Mr. Korie,” says Brandt quietly, firmly. Something in his tone makes the first officer hesitate.
    “Sir?”
    Brandt gestures him closer; Korie steps up onto the control island. The captain lowers his voice to a whisper. “Try and take it easy on the crew, will you? We’ve all been in space a long time.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    Brandt lifts one thick hand, “Oh, I’m not chastising you, but I do want you to know that a delegation from the union called on me. They were complaining about your rigid discipline.”
    “There were—who?”
    “That’s not your concern, don’t worry about it. It’s me that you have to please—not them. And as far as I’m concerned, you’re doing fine. You get results. Uh—it’s just that—well, try to be a little more . . . tactful.”
    Korie brushes a wisp of blond hair away from his eyes. “I’ll try.”
    “Good.” Brandt leans back in his chair, once more turning this attention forward. It is his signal that the discussion is closed.
    On the screen, the bright cyclopes have finished working their destruction—the ruined adapter has been pulled from its moorings. It is a simple black module—a naked piece of electronics. They examine it curiously with dark, expressionless stares.
    Brandt drops his hand to the controls. “Quartermaster.”
    A voice from the speaker: “Yes, sir?”
    “This is the captain. See that the engine room is charged for a multiplex phase adapter.”
    “Sir?”
    “See that the engine room crew is charged with the cost of it. Take if off their EHD allotment.”
    “Yes, sir.” But the voice is puzzled.
    Brandt ignores it, cuts him off abruptly—he notices Korie staring at him curiously. “A captain always stands behind his officers,” he explains.
    Korie nods. “When they’re right. . . .”
    The captain nods. “When they’re right.”
    Ahead, two more bright slender figures, this time in green and blue, float up and out of the air lock. One is carrying a duplicate of the burned-out adapter. They activate