kipper's cabin was
blank, hard-eyed, and unsmiling. There was none of the human noise that
normally echoes through a ship, no laughter, no clatter of equipment, no
deviations from the order and precision so dear to admirals' hearts.
This crew was G.I. right down to the last seam tab on their uniforms.
Whoever the skipper was, he was either bucking for another cluster or a
cold-feeling automaton to whom the Navy Code was father, mother, and
Bible.

[Illustration]

The O.D. stopped before the closed door, executed a mechanical right
face, knocked the prescribed three times and opened the door smartly on
the heels of the word "Come" that erupted from the inside. I stepped in
followed by the O.D.

"Commander Chase," the O.D. said. "Lieutenant Marsden."

Chase! Not Cautious Charley Chase! I could hardly look at the man behind
the command desk. But look I did--and my heart did a ninety degree dive
straight to the thick soles of my space boots. No wonder this ship was
sour. What else could happen with Lieutenant Commander Charles Augustus
Chase in command! He was three classes up on me, but even though he was
a First Classman at the time I crawled out of Beast Barracks, I knew
him well. Every Midshipman in the Academy knew him--Rule-Book
Charley--By-The-Numbers Chase--his nicknames were legion and not one of
them was friendly. "Lieutenant Thomas Marsden reporting for duty," I
said.

He looked at the O.D. "That'll be all, Mr. Halloran," he said.

"Aye, sir," Halloran said woodenly. He stepped backward, saluted,
executed a precise about face and closed the hatch softly behind him.

* * * * *

"Sit down, Marsden," Chase said. "Have a cigarette."

He didn't say, "Glad to have you aboard." But other than that he was
Navy right down to the last parenthesis. His voice was the same dry
schoolmaster's voice I remembered from the Academy. And his face was the
same dry gray with the same fishy blue eyes and rat trap jaw. His hair
was thinner, but other than that he hadn't changed. Neither the war nor
the responsibilities of command appeared to have left their mark upon
him. He was still the same lean, undersized square-shouldered blob of
nastiness.

I took the cigarette, sat down, puffed it into a glow, and looked around
the drab 6 x 8 foot cubicle called the Captain's cabin by ship designers
who must have laughed as they laid out the plans. It had about the room
of a good-sized coffin. A copy