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blank cream page so bright in the total dark of the corridor that Ida squinted before he turned the screen away from him to act as a flashlight. It was remarkably effective, throwing a whitish light several feet ahead. Enough to get back to the service elevator, for sure. Ida kept walking, surprised at the loud, metallic sound his footfalls were making on the bare grille decking. The dark was playing tricks.
    Ida stopped when he realized his boots weren’t making that sound at all, but the sound stopped at the same time he did. He turned, holding the control pad in front of him like a shield. The corridor was empty, but while the light from the pad was bright, it was diffuse, producing a glow that left the edges of the corridor in shadow. Ida watched his breath puff out in front of his face.
    There. Again, the sound. He swore it sounded like footsteps, but whoever was walking around was a long, long way off, the sound echoing from some distant corridor. Ida took a step forward. Then he shook his head. He’d had enough of this game.
    “Hello?” His voice didn’t carry as far as he’d thought it would. The rough grilled surface of the walls, floor, ceiling dampened the sound.
    When the footsteps sounded again, Ida felt his heartbeat quicken. The footsteps were echoing, no matter what the corridors were lined with. They continued for a few seconds, getting fainter as the mystery walker moved away.
    “Huh,” said Ida, feeling stupid but also wondering if this was all part of the joke. He turned and, pad lighting the way, headed for the elevator in the opposite direction of where he thought the footsteps had come from.
    As he turned the corner, Ida pulled up quickly to prevent himself from walking straight into two huge men in regulation olive green T-shirts.
    Ida shone the light up, into the faces of the two marines, but their heads were wrapped awkwardly in more olive cloth. The disguise was childish, but quite effective in hiding everything but their eyes.
    Those eyes had a spark in them. Ida had seen that light before, in the heat of battle. It was the light in the eyes of a killer that the Fleet selectors looked for when choosing frontline troops. And now Ida appeared to be locked in a space station with them, all clearly with a touch of cabin fever.
    “Abe, Abe, Abe,” said one of the marines, stepping forward. “Fancy meeting you here.”
    Ida shook his head. Enough of this nonsense. “Stand aside, marines.” He took a step forward, only to be stopped by a large hand pressing into his chest. The marine turned to his companion.
    “You hear what he’s been telling everyone?”
    “You mean that bullshit about saving a planet?”
    Ida knocked the hand away. “What the hell are you talking about?”
    “Some jack-shit story, right?” said the first marine. “Nice little tale for the grunts out in deep space, eh? Because those fucking space apes will believe any shit, right?”
    The second marine shook his head and turned back to Ida. “He’s a goddamn liar.”
    Ida felt his heart rate spike. “Now, wait one minute—”
    “Serving the Fleet is an honor, you sonovabitch,” said the first marine. “Now, you tell me what kind of cowardly shit would make up a story like that, huh?”
    Ida made to turn, but it was too late.
    *   *   *
    “Look, Captain…”
    Ida closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and began to count. It was supposed to be relaxing, helping him clear his head and focus.
    Now the deep breathing just hurt, as somewhere inside, a cracked rib creaked. He winced, skipped from three to ten in his head, and opened the one eye that could still open. The ready room flipped in his vision in a way that made Ida nauseated, just a little, and when it righted itself it was fuzzy at the edges and slightly out of focus. Not good.
    “Sir, do you expect me to explain how I fell down some stairs last night? Take a look. A good, long look. It was two of your marines, Carter and DeJohn. I know it