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The meal was over, and the admiral and vice-admiral had left. Jack sat alone in the great cabin, working through some of the many documents he was responsible for as the Roth’s commander. He signed the receipt for the carbon slurry and clicked ‘send,’ leaned back in his chair, out of the circle of light cast by his desk lamp, and sighed. The voice of a woman he’d once known floated through his mind: “of course he knows how to push your buttons. He installed them.” What had ever happened to her, he wondered. He considered calling Jevons, or perhaps sending him a text, but Jevons was in another system, unreachable.
The sentry knocked. “Come,” Jack called, but instead of Sublieutenant Greenstreet, Doctor Russ appeared, a shining smile upon his lips and a wrapped bottle of wine in his hand.
“You wished to see me?”
“Doctor Russ,” said the captain. “I was not aware that you had left the Roth until Mister Barus told me he had seen you depart.”
“I did not realize that I needed to let you know. I beg pardon.”
“Not only did you fail to let me know, Doctor, you failed to get, or even to seek, permission to leave.”
“Permission?”
“I am the Roth’s commander. I am responsible for every thing, and every one, aboard her. Without my permission, nobody, nobody under flag rank, boards or leaves.”
Stephen did not reply, and in the silence the sentry knocked. “Forgive me, Doctor, but this is probably Lieutenant Greenstreet about moving us to dry dock,” said Jack.
The Doctor bowed, “your servant.” He stepped up to Jack’s desk, and for a moment Jack thought Stephen was about to hit him, but the doctor merely clunked the bottle onto the desk. “Your wine,” he said, then turned and left.
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