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every corridor of every level," said Cole. "Even the galley, the storerooms, the public bathrooms, everything. If I'm going to spend a few years aboard this ship, I'd better learn every inch of it."
    "On the first day?"
    "You never know. There might be a surprise test." Cole could see that Forrice didn't understand his humor, so he shrugged and started off toward the nearest airlift. The Molarian caught and passed him, then indicated that they wanted a different airlift farther down the corridor.
    "How the hell many decks can there be?" said Cole. "Don't all the airlifts lead to the same levels?"
    "Yes," answered Forrice. "But this one is large enough to accommodate a stretcher or an airsled, and we've been asked not to use it except in emergencies."
    "How many times has a stretcher or airsled been brought to the infirmary since you've been onboard?"
    "Four, I think. Possibly five."
    "Out of how many months?" said Cole. "We'll take this lift."
    "I can't argue with an officer who outranks me," said the Molarian pleasantly as he followed Cole into the airlift.
    They ascended to the gunnery section, where Cole met the three sergeants—a Man, a Polonoi, and a Molarian—who were in charge of keeping the weapons in working order. He wondered how anyone kept the ranks straight before the services combined and there were five varieties of yeoman, eight of seaman (though it was likely that none of them had ever been to sea), and six of lieutenant. It made much more sense to appropriate sergeants, majors, colonels, and the like.
    A brief inspection confirmed his suspicions that the Teddy R would probably be outgunned by just about any Teroni ship it went up against. He actually signed an autograph (to his surprise, it was the Molarian who requested it, not the Man), and then stopped by the science labs. They seemed up-to-date, but they were deserted, both scientists being on their sleep breaks while a bored-looking ensign stood guard.
    Forrice then took Cole on a tour of the crew's quarters, which resembled nothing more than a run-down hotel. He practically expected to encounter the scent of urine in the corridors. The rooms covered three levels, and it was clear that the cubicles on the lowest level had been modified to fit the needs of the nonhuman members of the crew.
    "Is your room near here?" asked Cole when he'd finished inspecting the alien level.
    "Just down the hall," answered Forrice.
    "Let's go there for a minute."
    Forrice seemed about to ask him why, then thought better of it and simply led the way. The room boasted a bed built for the Molarian's body contours, chairs to match, nightmarish holographs on the walls that seemed to delight their owner, and a desk with a pair of computers, one with a Steinmetz/Norton bubble memory, the other a model Cole had never seen before.
    "All right, we're here," said Forrice. "Now what?"
    "Close the door."
    Forrice uttered a command and the door snapped shut.
    Cole pulled out his pocket computer and ordered it to make contact with Sharon Blacksmith. Suddenly her image appeared a few inches above the computer, hovering there and staring curiously at him.
    "Yes, Commander?" she said.
    "There's an ensign guarding the science labs," said Cole.
    "That's correct."
    "Why? You're probably monitoring them round the clock. Has there been a threat against them?"
    "No, there has not."
    "Then why isn't the ensign being put to better use?"
    "Commander Cole, we're four hundred and eighty-three days out of Port Royale in the Quinellus Cluster. It's been a hundred and thirty-two days since there's been any sign of enemy activity. We're in the emptiest sector of the galaxy, we're carrying a full complement of fifty officers and crew, and it is essential that we maintain discipline. What would yon suggest?"
    "All right," said Cole. "I thought it was just a make-work assignment, but I didn't want it confirmed in public."
    "Thank you for your tact," she replied. "Of course, if I didn't know you and