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Their health was good, Doctor Russ, in this respect at least, meeting or exceeding Jack’s wildest dreams in keeping his crew sound. But Jack was obliged to admit - to himself if not in the report - that they were not entirely behind him. Minor crimes such as muttering were too frequent. Hands favored a bold, skilled commander, he knew, who was at the same time careful with his crew’s lives, and though he had shown himself to be bold in handling the French frigate, that jump into hyperspace did not suggest skill.
There was nowhere in the report to share these observations, though, even if he had wanted to. The punishment log did form a part of the report, “but they never look at that,” he muttered, “unless there’s an inquiry.” Perhaps he was misreading the situation. He leaned back and rubbed his eyes.
“Bollwerk,” he called, but in the five seconds before the man appeared he changed his mind. “Er, a glass of wine, red, if you please,” he said, not to have called his servant in vain.
Bollwerk drew off the glass and handed it to Lieutenant O’Brian, who took a large sip - almost a gulp - to prove that he really did want it, then said, “thank you. You may turn in.” Bollwerk excused himself and retreated, closing the door behind him, and Jack was alone.
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