ound at him quickly, saying, "What's that?"

"I said we've had it. I just saw the new CO, walking over from the
Operations office."

"What about it?" I asked sharply.

Harding shook his heavy, balding head, staring at the floor. "It's
written all over him," he said bitterly.

"No!" muttered Spender.

"Yep," Harding growled. "Just wait until you lay eyes on him."

He stood up and faced me, his expression bleak and cold. "A sickman, Mr.
Exec," he snarled. "Just as sure as death."

As previously noted, discipline was very lax, but I had been trying to
restore it as much as possible. So I said, "I don't know whether the
new CO is a member of the Psi Corps or not, Harding, but cut out this
nickname of 'sick.'"

Harding mumbled: "That's what everybody calls them. I didn't invent the
name. But I think it is plenty appropriate."

"Well cut it out."

Harding glared at me. "I suppose you're glad to have one of the
guess-kids running this ship."

"Nobody wants to be involved in any guessing games, but we're not
running the war here, so stow it."

Spender broke in then with his customary cold, quiet speech. "A sickman,
eh? Then we have approximately one chance in three of living through our
first encounter with the enemy when we leave here. That is according to
the statistics, I believe. But to the best of my recollection, our
previous captain brought us through eighty-eight skirmishes before
anyone got hurt." He shook his head and thoughtfully contemplated the
big, raw knuckles of his hand.

As is perfectly obvious from the above, the situation was ill-suited for
a new officer to take command of the ship. I would have liked to settle
the matter a little more before he got there, but there was nothing I
could do about it then. Besides, it wasn't my worry any more, I realized
gratefully. The problem of loyalty and confidence was now the business
of the new CO. I did not envy him his job, but it had to be done.

* * * * *

At the very first glance, you could see what Harding had been talking
about. Commander Frendon was the absolute epitome of every popular
physiological cliche associated with people of unusual psi endowment for
the past century that it has been known. At least ten years younger than
any of the rest of us, he was of medium height, extremely skinny and
nervous, his eyes glancing about with a restless uncertainty. It seemed
almost too obvious on him, I thought, and wond