'Did you try hard enough to find Lieutenant Reed?'

I chewed slowly on the piece of peppered steak I'd just put in my mouth, and tried not to listen to the question that had been repeating itself in my head all morning, every time the pressure of my daily routine plus the additional demands of the responsibility for the Fleeter security team allowed me the time to listen to it. Which, it had to be said, wasn't often – but still more often than I might have hoped.

I'd ordered Ensign Müller to step up into Reed's shoes covering the Tactical Station during the Alpha shift for the time being. Gomez would take care of Beta, and a crewman she'd recommended had received a temporary promotion to cover Gamma. I was confident that they could all cope well enough, but that didn't make any of them head of the team. That responsibility was now mine, and all I had to do was find an additional eight hours in each twenty-four in which to fit in the extra work.

I looked across the Mess Hall. The ship's helmsman and the comm officer were sitting together at a table, eating lunch (nominally) and although Mayweather's usually sunny expression was one of deep trouble, Sato's was one of absolute despair. Even as I watched, she shoved the heel of one hand across her eyes as though pushing away brimming tears.

McKenzie's always assiduous in passing on any scraps of ship's gossip she picks up; information's valuable, even if it isn't always accurate, and she's usually good at sifting out the dross before she hands it over. I'd initially dismissed the suggestion – just one among the usual stuff – that Sato and Reed were sweet on each other. Now, however, seeing that gesture, I wondered. All of the Alpha shift would be expected to attend the memorial service, and no doubt it would be tough on all of them, considering the time they'd served together – it was the first time they'd be saying goodbye to one of their own. But was that all it was in Sato's case?

'Did you try hard enough to find Lieutenant Reed?'

=/\=

Ship's gymnasium, nineteen hundred hours.

I'd done the regulation distance on the running machine, even beating my previous best time by a couple of seconds. Nothing had changed. The mission was going on.

One thing had changed, however.

I was wearing headphones.

Normally I prefer silence while I work out; it gives me more chance to go over things in my head, and long experience has made me pretty expert at separating the stream of my thoughts from the repetitive grind of setting one foot in front of the other, over and over again while I pound out the distance. Most nights I can get to the end of the run without even realizing I've done so, only alerted by the flash on the console that tells me I've finished. That day, however, though I'd more than enough to occupy my attention throughout the duration of the run – and, indeed, well past it – I'd brought headphones, and the music slamming through them should have provided a numbing wall to keep out that one damn sentence.

It should have, but it didn't.

'Did you try hard enough to find Lieutenant Reed?'

I'd spoken to Müller during the course of the afternoon, discussed the changes I intended to make and the best way to start implementing them while causing the minimum of disruption; I knew it might come across as insensitive, picking up the reins even before the memorial had been held, but Reed would have been the first to insist we couldn't afford to check stride. The Bavarian had been impeccably polite, as he always was. He listened carefully, checked his understanding, made intelligent suggestions and was generally far more co-operative than Reed had ever been. And yet, although my imagination didn't normally run to such flights of fancy, it had felt – yes, as though there were an invisible wall between us.

Maybe I was just over-reacting. Maybe I was just picking up on signals that the other man couldn't help giving off, however smart, disciplined and obedient he was; after all, Müller was still in the first shock of grief, and however hard he tried to conform to the new order, he'd have a real job coming to terms with it at first. People aren't machines – they need time to adapt to changed circumstances, and I was prepared to give the Fleeter security team all the time and understanding I could, within reason and the confines of military discipline.

Nevertheless, my instinct was still flagging up trouble.

At least the Beta Shift team leader hadn't displayed the open hostility of his Gamma Shift counterpart, and yet in some ways his deliberate neutrality might well prove harder to deal with. Gomez was fighting me out in the open field, whereas Müller – superficially co-operative – had dug fortifications and was eyeing me through gun-slits in them.

Reed had been an ass, but he'd evidently been an ass capable of inspiring extraordinary loyalty. It was beginning to dawn on me that the guy might be even more of a problem to me dead than he had been alive.

Typical.

I switched off the running machine and headed for the showers, my face set. It was too early, in my opinion, to make definitive judgments on the situation, leave alone go running to my superiors about it. I'd handled difficult situations before and had plenty of options to explore. These were good officers; I just had to find the way to reach them. They might never like me, but somehow I'd show them I deserved their trust, just as Reed had done.

'Did you try hard enough to find Lieutenant Reed?'

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