g to take the
ship out with us when we go." He grinned at me. "And as for mutiny,
nobody would be using any physical force on him. Nor--when you come
right down to the specific matter of his commanding his ship--would
there be any moral force employed either."

"Have it any way you like," I said, standing up. "I don't care for the
tone of this discussion, and I'm getting out of it."

Harding laughed again at that. "O.K., Maise," he said in a friendly tone
of voice. "Sorry. I guess you're right at that." I stood glaring at him.
"Come on, sit down," he continued. "I know there isn't anything else for
you to say about it. Being Exec and all, you pretty well have to stick
up for him, and we don't hold it against you. And don't worry about us
doing anything to your precious Frendon."

His face darkened as he said it, though, and he swore. "Not right now,
anyway. Still, that spore business isn't such a bad--"

"Let it go," Spender cut him off with a mixture of irritation and
affection. "Somebody told me about it, and so I just passed it on. It
isn't as easy as it sounds, because that stuff can kill, and you stand a
pretty good chance of making a mistake and catching it yourself." Then
he looked up at me and smiled again. "You might as well stick around
with us tonight and get drunk, Maise. No place else to go."

I hesitated. It was a genuine offer of comradeship, and God knows I
wanted it. I had been an outcast among these men too long. So I grinned
back at him and slid down into the booth again, pressing the button for
another drink. "I'll have one more, but then I think I have some work to
do. Got to see a man about something."

Korsakov stirred himself. He wasn't as drunk as he seemed, I think. He
raised his head and looked at me carefully for a moment, but then he
mumbled, "Once in three times. How do you figure it?"

* * * * *

I left them soon after, located and spoke to Frendon, and then returned
to the ship. The following morning at nine thirty Commander Frendon
suddenly complained of a fever, and said he was going to the hospital.

A couple of hours later, we received notification of his condition from
the hospital, and at the same time orders from CINCMARS.

Korsakov, eyes still bloodshot from his hangover, took the message out
of the scanner and stared at it. Then he wordlessly handed it over to
me.

I read it. It said that Commander Frendon had contracted the spore
disea