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draping themselves seductively around models wearing and (very ineptly) pretending to use the objects in question. He wanted the gear so badly he could almost taste it... but he couldn't help thinking to himself, grinning, that those 'spacers' would undoubtedly have a very hard time keeping their minds on their jobs, with so many distractions so temptingly to hand.
    His thoughts were interrupted by the vibration of his PIA behind his ear, signifying an incoming call. As he focused on the display in his right eye, his heart began to pound. It was the Bosun!
    He blinked to answer the call. "Steve Maxwell here, Sir."
    "I just spoke with Captain Volschenk. Subject to one condition, you're hired, son."
    "YAHOO!" Steve's exuberant yell turned heads all around him. "I - I can't thank you enough, Sir."
    The Bosun's voice was amused. "Good thing these PIA's have automatic volume limiting, or you'd have blown out my eardrums! The condition is this. The Captain says, if he's going to train you and commit so much of his crew's time to training you, he wants a return on his investment. He wants you to undertake to serve a minimum of two years aboard Cabot before you pursue any other opportunities that may come your way. That includes enlisting in the Lancastrian Commonwealth Fleet. Can I tell him you'll give your word to do that?"
    "Of course, Sir! That's only fair. I'll sign any contract he wants."
    "Contracts can be broken too easily in our trade. You can disappear aboard an orbital station or hide planetside until we're forced to leave without you; or you can slip aboard another ship and be light years away before we realize you're gone. No, we reckon if your word's no good then neither are you, and vice versa. You've demonstrated, by helping Louie at the risk of your own life, that you're anything but 'no good'; so we'll accept your word."
    "Thank you, Sir."
    "Don't thank me yet, Maxwell. Let's see if you can handle the life of a merchant spacer first. It's not easy! There's one thing you need to get straight, right up front. Last night was social. From now on, you and I are on a professional footing, at least until you finish your apprenticeship. Once you're qualified, we'll relax that to some extent - we're merchant service, after all, not military - but the first few months will be pretty formal. The same applies to your contact with the Captain and the mates."
    "Understood, Sir. Thanks for warning me. I appreciate it."
    "One more thing. I'm not a commissioned officer; a Boatswain in the merchant service is a warrant officer. You address me as 'Bosun'. The Captain and the ship's mates are 'Sir'."
    "Yes, Bosun."
    "Another thing. When a spacer answers a question, he says 'Yes'; but when he's acknowledging an order, he says 'Aye aye'. It's a very old tradition."
    "Aye aye, Bosun. Er... may I ask a question, please?"
    "Sure."
    "Is it also tradition for you to use crossed anchors in your badge of rank? I've never heard of a spaceship having anchors."
    The spacer chuckled. "Neither have I! Yes, that goes back many centuries before the Space Age. Now, we've got a lot to do this morning. Can you meet me at the offices of the Lancastrian Merchant Spacers League at oh-nine-hundred?"
    "Just a moment, please, Bosun - I'll have to look them up."
    Steve hurriedly re-focused on his eyescreen as he muted the call. His PIA picked up his muttered, sub-vocalized query, transmitted through his jawbone and skull. It processed it, then projected a three-dimensional map of the terminal onto his eyescreen. A flashing star marked a location two levels above and a kilometer away from his present position.
    He reactivated the call. "I've found them, Bosun. I can be there by nine."
    "Good. They'll have an arrangement with a nearby clinic to do spacers' medical checks - they always do. I'll call ahead to set that up. Bring with you every important personal and official document you've got - birth certificate, passport, qualifications, academic transcripts, the