Free Enigma by Michael P. Kube-McDowell Page B

doubt that some among you have invested the outcrossing with far more meaning than it deserves. It is an occasion for the exchange of theater insignia. You give up the blue Orbital or yellow System ellipse you now wear. You receive the black Intersystem ellipse. But the difference in color is meaningless in itself.”
    Then why do you vets call us lessers? Thackery wondered, fingering his own System insignia absently.
    “Contrary to what many of you believe, this is not a promotion. The Service does not honor you by doing this. All we do here today is to mark the beginning of an opportunity for honor—honor you will have to bring to yourself in the months and years ahead. You wear the black ellipse, but you have not yet earned it.”
    A tech to Thackery’s right nudged him and whispered, “Trying to scare us with the tough bitch routine, huh?” Thackery ignored the comment.
    “In the last two months, I have even heard some of you use the term ‘cadet’. You mislead yourself if you think of your role here in those terms. There are no ‘cadets’ in the Survey Branch, and even if there were, there would be none in the crew of Descartes . A cadet is expected to make mistakes and learn from them. You are expected not to make mistakes. Remember that, always.”
    She handed the case to Rogen, opened it, and took out the first insignia.
    “Technician Jessica Baldwin,” she called out.
    When Thackery’s turn came, he came forward suffused with pride despite Neale’s deflating remarks. She made the exchange smoothly and wordlessly, deftly removing the yellow, handing it to Rogen in exchange for a black, and pinning the new jewelry in place. Then the moment was over. But as he turned away he was conscious of the new weight on his collar all the same.
    I didn’t see it happening this way , he thought as he walked back. Not full of down-talk, not as part of a human assembly-line, not in a crowded temporary compartment in the hold of someone else’s ship. But damnit, I’m here. We’re on our way. And this is what / wanted, no matter how it comes packaged .
    As Neale was pinning the next-to-last tech a shipnet comtech broke in to announce: “First warning. Craze in thirty minutes.”
    Neale waved the last auxiliary forward and called out instructions as she pinned him. “First command watch, forward to the Tycho bridge. Second watch, monitor from here. In both cases, I want the navtechs and comtechs to prepare an annotated log and critique of Tycho ’s watch procedures. Everyone else out of here, they need room to breathe. Questions?”
    There were none, and the gathering broke up quickly as the officers left and the various crew scattered to their posts. Thackery fought his way through the congested corridor and caught up to Neale and Rogen at the former’s cabin door.
    “Commander, a request?” Neale looked back over her shoulder, then turned to face him. “Thackery,” she acknowledged. “Permission to observe the craze from the bridge. Commander?”
    “I’ve sent them as many observers as they will accept. I’m the commander of Descartes , not of Tycho .”
    “Then permission to observe from the library.”
    She shook her head. “There’ll be time enough for that later.”
    “What’s your interest, Thackery?” Rogen interjected.
    Thackery glanced sideways at the bridge captain and hesitated before answering. “I understand that any phobes will be rousted out at Cygnus.”
    “That’s correct. They’ll be transferred to the permanent staff there.”
    “Well—I’d like to find out right away.”
    A bemused smile slowly spread across Rogen’s face, and he walked away chuckling to himself.
    “The craze phobia is psychological, not perceptual,” Neale said coldly in answer to Thackery’s baffled look. “If that were not the case, we would be able to screen for it more effectively.”
    Flushing rapidly, he said, “I always heard it compared with claustrophobia—”
    “An analogy only. Its effect