A Question Of Courage A Question Of Courage Illustrated by FINLAY Illustrated by FINLAY By J. F. BONE I smelled the trouble the moment I stepped on the lift and took the long ride up the side of the "Lachesis." There was something wrong. I couldn't put my finger on it but I smelled the trouble the moment I stepped on five years in the Navy gives a man a feeling for these things. From the outside the ship was beautiful, a gleaming shaft of duralloy, polished until she shone. Her paint and brightwork glistened. The antiradiation shields on the gun turrets and launchers were folded back exactly according to regulations. The shore uniform of the liftman was spotless and he stood at his station precisely as he should. As the lift moved slowly up past no-man's country to the life section, I noted a work party hanging precariously from a scaffolding smoothing out meteorite pits in the gleaming hull, while on the catwalk of the gantry standing beside the main cargo hatch a steady stream of supplies disappeared into the ship's belly. I returned the crisp salutes of the white-gloved sideboys, saluted the colors, and shook hands with an immaculate ensign with an O.D. badge on his tunic. "Glad to have you aboard, sir," the ensign said. "I'm Marsden," I said. "Lieutenant Thomas Marsden. I have orders posting me to this ship as Executive." "Yes, sir. We have been expecting you. I'm Ensign Halloran." "Glad to meet you, Halloran." "Skipper's orders, sir. You are to report to him as soon as you come aboard." Then I got it. Everything was SOP. The ship wasn't taut, she was tight! And she wasn't happy. There was none of the devil-may-care spirit that marks crews in the Scouting Force and separates them from the stodgy mass of the Line. Every face
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