She made him feel uncomfortable. She was always looking at him . . . he would glance up and discover those clear violet eyes, and an amused quirk to her mouth. She seemed to impinge on his space in a way that Esmay never did. Brun, though she had been overtly interested in his body, had backed off without rancor when refused. But this . . .

He went into the gym convinced that whatever was going on was his fault. He had done something-what, he couldn't figure out-that aroused her interest. He climbed onto the exercise

machine he'd reserved, and set the controls. Past the warmup phase, into the sweaty part of the workout, his mind drifted to Esmay. She was exec of a specialty ship now; he could imagine her in a rescue situation . . . she might do something spectacular, and get back in everyone's good graces.

"Hello, Ensign." The husky voice broke his concentration. There beside him, on the next machine, was Ferradi. Barin blinked, confused. She hadn't been signed up for that machine; he'd made sure of that. But now she was warming up, her body as sleek as her golden hair in a shiny exercise suit that outlined every curve. Barin, panting slightly, nodded a greeting.

"You're a hard worker," she said, starting her own machine. "I guess that goes with being a Serrano, eh?"

He had to say something; she was still looking at him and it would be rude to ignore her-possibly even insubordinate.

"It's . . . expected . . . sir," he said.

"No need for formality in the gym," she said. "I approve . . . of the attitude, and the results, Barin." Her look ranged over him, with particular attention he couldn't mistake.

Well, he would have to say something . . . but before he could, Major Oslon climbed onto the machine on Ferradi's other side.

"Hey, Casea . . . let Serrano finish his workout. He's too young for you anyway. I, on the other hand . . ."

She gave Barin a last lingering look before turning to Oslon. "Why, Major . . . you're incorrigible. Whatever makes you think I'm after Ensign Serrano?"

"Glad to know you're not. I must have been misled by the fit of that exercise suit."

"This old thing?" Barin had seen less obvious flirting from professionals at the trade, but Oslon didn't seem to mind. He and Casea bantered awhile, and when he invited her to a game of parpaun, she agreed-with a last lingering look at Barin that bothered him all over again.

A few days later, Barin was on his way through Troop Deck on a routine inspection of the traps in the heads-hairballs in the traps were a constant problem. A peculiar crunch caught his attention.

He hesitated. Another, and then another. Which compartment was it in? He looked around, trying to locate the sound . . . slightly behind him, and to the right. A slither-and-bump, followed by the sounds of something heavy being dragged, came next, and pinpointed the source: D-82.

Barin looked in, to see Master Chief Zuckerman, face almost purple with rage and exertion, dragging someone by the heels.

"Chief-what's going on?"

"Outa my way!" Zuckerman said, breathing heavily. The Chief did not seem to recognize him; his eyes were dilated.

"Chief-" Barin could not see clearly past him, but the limpness of the legs Zuckerman held bothered him. He lifted his gaze a little . . . down the row of racks to one with a depression where someone had been sitting . . . a needler case on the pillow . . .

"Chief, put that down." Barin had no idea what had happened, but it was trouble all the same. He reached back for the alarm beside the hatch.

"Oh, no you don't, you puppy!" Zuckerman dropped the man's feet and charged. Barin ducked aside, and Zuckerman kept going, bouncing off the opposite bulkhead. By then Barin had slapped the alarm, cutting in local scan.

"Security, ASAP!" Barin said. "Man down, possible assault!"

Zuckerman turned, more slowly than he'd charged. "Not possible-the bastard attacked me. Me, a master chief with . . . with . . . twenty . . . twenty . . ." He shook his head. "He shouldn't have done that. Not right."

"Chief," Barin said, cautiously. "What happened?"

"None of your lip, boy," Zuckerman said. His eyes narrowed. "What the devil are you doing wearing officers' insignia? That's illegal. You want to get tossed out? You take those pings off your uniform this minute, Pivot."

"Master Chief Zuckerman," Barin said. "I asked you a question." For the first time in his life, he heard the Serrano bite in his own voice-the family pride that knew, bone-deep, what it was.

Zuckerman stared at him, his face blanking a moment. Then he looked confused. "Uh . . . Ensign . .

. Serrano? What's . . . what's that you were asking me, sir?"

"Chief," Barin tried again, but cautiously. Where was Security? How long would it be? "I'm watch officer today. I heard something funny, and came to look. You were in 82, dragging someone, and there's a needler case on a rack." He paused. Zuckerman stepped forward, but Barin put up his hand. "No. Don't go in there. Security's on the way; I want nothing disturbed. Can you tell me what happened?"

"I-he-he was going to kill me." Zuckerman was sweating now, his face shiny with it. His hands opened and closed rhythmically. "He pulled a needler; he said he'd never be caught." He shook his head, then looked at Barin again. "Son of a bitch actually tried it-if I didn't have good reflexes, I'd be dead in there. So I-so I grabbed his hand, got the needler, and-and hit-" He turned pale and sagged against the bulkhead. "I hit him," he whispered. "I hit him . . . and then I hit him . . . and-"

"Chief. Stay where you are. Can you do that?"

Zuckerman nodded. "Yes, sir. But I-but I don't know-"

"Just stay there. I need to check the guy. What's his name?"

"Moredon. Corporal Moredon."

"All right. I'm going in; I want you to stay exactly where you are." Again, the Serrano tone-he could hear it himself; he could see its steadying effect on Zuckerman.

Moredon lay where Zuckerman had dropped him, unmoving. Barin stepped closer. Now he could see the bruises and blood on the man's head, and a long streak of blood on the deck where he'd been dragged. Was he breathing? Barin couldn't tell; he knelt beside the limp body. Yes. Through the open mouth he could just hear a low snore, and feel the moist breath against the back of his hand.

He stood up, and went back to the corridor. Zuckerman stood where he'd been told, and down the corridor came a Security team, with medical assist.

"Sir?" said the sergeant in charge of the Security team. His gaze flicked quickly from Barin to Zuckerman, down to Zuckerman's hands, back to his face, and Barin could see the puzzlement in his eyes.

"There's a man down in 82," Barin said crisply. "Head injuries, but he's breathing. You'll need to secure the area for forensic examination, and look for a loose needler."

"Yes, sir," the sergeant said. He waved the medical team forward, and gave the necessary orders to his team. Then he glanced at Barin again. "Did . . . uh . . . the man in there attack Chief Zuckerman, sir? Or you?"

"If you please, Sergeant, just see to it that the area is secured, and that the injured man is treated appropriately." Before the sergeant could comment, Barin turned to Zuckerman. "Chief, I need you to come with me to make a report. Can you do that?"

"Of course, sir." Zuckerman straightened up. "What's the problem?"

Barin wished he had an answer for that. "We'll let the Exec sort it out," he said. It occurred to him, as he led the way back up to command deck, that perhaps he should have brought along an escort. What if Zuckerman got violent again? Surely he wouldn't, but all the way up to command deck, his neck prickled at the thought of Zuckerman behind him.

He met Lieutenant Commander Dockery coming down the ladder from command deck, and came to attention.

"What is it, Ensign?"

"Sir, we have a real problem. Permission?"

"Go ahead . . . wait, who's that with you?"

"Chief Zuckerman, sir. There's been an incident-"

"I know you called for Security. At ease, both of you. Spit it out, then, Ensign."

Barin spit it out, aware all the time of Zuckerman-his age, his seniority, his record-standing there looking entirely too confused still.

Dockery glanced at Zuckerman. "Well, Chief?"

Zuckerman's voice trembled. "Commander, I . . . I don't quite know what happened . . ."

"Did this individual attack you?"

"I-I think so. Yes, sir, he did. It's-I can almost see it-"

Dockery gave Barin a look he could not interpret. "Did you . . . do anything with the Chief,