Date: 017.072.1789

Location: Royal Light Ship Legacy, Saxonite Pass.

For the past four days, I have kept true to my word and striven to maintain Doctor Doppler at arm's length.

However, this has required very little effort on my part; it first seemed that the Doctor himself had similar designs to avoid my company. For the first two days of our journey down the Saxonite Pass, the only time I saw the Doctor was during our morning watch, in the very early hours of the morning. When the bells rang out, he would report to the bridge with a curt nod and then quickly scramble away to the bow with his astronomical tools and textbooks. There he stayed while I remained at my post, silently observing from afar. We have had clear skies these past few nights and the stars are out in their thousands; without the light pollution of towns and cities, one can see far more of the Etherium's celestial wonders than one would see planet-side. Whichever way you turn your head, you are greeted by an uncountable number of glittering stars.

A breath-taking sight - an astronomer's dream.

And yet I must note that, on more than one occasion, I have caught the Doctor pausing during his observations and taking the time to glance at me from over his shoulder. Apparently, even the enchanting scenery before us is not enough to distract him from the tangible tension between us. Every so often, he would tear his eyes away from the subject of his life-long devotion just to look at me.

But not a word passed between us.

At the end of the watch, we both would go our separate ways for a late breakfast.

This is how our watches together have repeated themselves: A curt nod, and a night of stolen glimpses. I was satisfied with this, despite the tightness in my chest protesting against it; these brief nods of courtesy are how all interactions between us should have been from the start.

And this is how things would have remained, if it were not for Arrow's meddling.

But this is how our nights have passed, for my days have been far more animated with hard work.

My ship-keeping hours have been spent drilling the crew with strenuous practice rounds of reefing and unfurling sails, re-furling and releasing, in a hope to iron out the imperfect habits I had spotted while we were preparing the ship for the tempest on the Magellan Bridge. Unfortunately, the crew have proven themselves to be slow-learners; these hours of practice have done little to improve their discipline. They have done nothing but grope and groan. A consequence of this was that Arrow and I (especially I for my temper has been seriously strained lately) have done little but berate and reprimand them for their lack of decorum during this time.

"Must I spell it out for you," I snarled at one point to a trio of riggers. "Or are you illiterate as well as inept? I said hold the lines until I give the order to let go – damn your instincts, you obey my word. Again! And this time – wait."

Sure enough, the imbeciles let go of the lines before I gave the order. After a few choice insults, I abandoned them and swung my way back down to the middeck.

"Dismiss the crew for lunch." I said to Arrow once my feet were touching the floorboards once more. "A very poor performance today. I pray that tomorrow's efforts will see a substantial improvement, or I will be forced to start revoking rum rations."

A few of the eavesdropping ropers looked at each other aghast. Good – I was hoping the word would spread in the galley that night and hopefully frighten them into finally beginning to deliver the results I desire. My plan worked to an extent – the drilling on the third day produced a certain degree of development. Finally, they were beginning to listen.

But it was not enough to placate me.

I eventually singled out two riggers who were purposefully being obstreperous – Ms Krailoni and Mr Dogbreath (yes, according to his papers, that is indeed his surname). Ms Krailoni is a middle-aged Geeorie who is as loud as her mouth is large. More than once I have caught her crewmates refer to her as 'Bird-brain' and I am yet to see any evidence that refutes this. She decided to spend these drills more concentrated on huffing and moaning about the waiting period between orders. Mr Dogbreath, a Kamelian, is far quieter but this is most likely a result of his sheer lack of competence. He kept missing his marks, releasing ropes whenever he felt like it, to the point where I was sure that he was purposefully trying to irritate me.

Well, by the end of it, I ordered the two of them to begin scrubbing down the crew's quarters as punishment for their shambolic work. It made sense – the quarters were in dire need of a deep clean and the cabin boy would not be able to make his way through the work effectively by himself. Clothing and belongings had to be neatly rearranged and properly stowed away, the floor mopped, walls scrubbed, and the hammocks would need be taken above deck to be washed and hung to dry before night-fall.

"An excellent idea," Mr Arrow confirmed later when we both settled down to lunch. We were dining in my stateroom that day as I had now considered the wardroom totally off-limits. Even if Doctor Doppler hardly used the premises, I did not want to run the risk of a coincidental meeting. "I shall head down there to inspect their work right after we have eaten."

"Thank you, Arrow, if you would be so kind. And be thorough – I want the crew to see what happens when my orders are not followed so closely."

A polite silence fell between as we ate – well, Arrow ate. I was not feeling particularly hungry, so I simply sat and picked at my food. Mr Silver had been making good use of the fresh produce; those pesky marrows were on the menu that day in a salad with the last of the stale nuts, purps, and some other greens. As I repeatedly prodded my portions of marrow with my fork, musings of their purchaser strayed into my mind. I was in the middle of wondering if Doctor Doppler even liked Cavadern marrows when my thoughts were interrupted by Arrow.

"You…do not seem yourself, ma'am." He began rather hesitantly. "Is everything alright?"

"Of course." I responded quickly, my eyes moving from the pieces of marrow on my plate to my first mate's face. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Arrow appeared unimpressed with my answer and made a pointed look at my untouched food. Feeling caught out, I pursed my lips and dropped my fork. "I am just…not so peckish today."

"You have not been peckish at all since we left the waystation." He mumbled.

"Tish-tosh, Arrow, that is nonsense."

"You hardly ate any of last night's dinner either."

"I…merely have not had much of an appetite lately." I said as I rolled my eyes. "Since when was that a crime?"

"It is not, Captain…but are you sure there is not something you would like to discuss?"

My fingers twitched involuntary, sensing what was about to come. "What is there to be discussed?"

"Well…one cannot help but notice that ever since your row with Doctor Doppler-"

I interrupted him with a hiss and bolted up in my seat. "It certainly did not take you long to drag his name into the conversation." I snapped and glared at my old friend. "As I told you before – he has made an apology, which I accepted, but the acquaintanceship there has gotten far out of hand. I am dealing with it, Arrow. There is nothing more to be discussed on the matter."

Once the Doctor departed my cabin after apologising for his actions, Arrow came to me soon after and I gave him a brief run-down on the Doctor's request for forgiveness. Once I had announced that I had denied him this privilege, my old friend had tried to change my resolution of no longer fraternizing with our financier but I had stubbornly dismissed the idea and cut off any attempts by him to invest more energy and emotion into the affair - but it was clear that Arrow was not satisfied.

"Captain – you cannot carry on with this pretence any longer." He sighed and set own his own utensil. "I have…watched your behaviour these past few days with solicitude. You have been working yourself to the bone; even when you are not drilling the crew, I have often seen you up to the elbow in paperwork – and in the rare moment when you are at respite, you are unobtainable and often staring off in a daze. Take this very meal, for instance – despite barely touching your food, you have not said a word. This kind of behaviour is unlike you. It is obvious something is plaguing your mind and we both know there can only be one subject-"

"I don't want to hear this, Arrow, I have already made up my mind."

"But I see no sense in torturing yourself by purposefully avoiding the Doctor's company." Arrow continued. "There is no shame in befriending a civilian, and it pains me deeply to see you so lugubrious-"

"Lugubrious?" I exclaimed, my body tensing with each passing word. "I have been nothing of the sort! I am simply invested in my duties - you know that running the Legacy takes up most of my time!"

"Yes ma'am, I am aware but please do not take me for a fool." Arrow said with a hardening voice. He was slowly losing his patience with me as I was losing mine with him. "I can always tell when you are out of sorts and it does not take a high level of intellect to determine what has thrown you off balance. It comes with knowing you for so many years. You cannot hide it from me, Captain, no matter how hard you try."

He was correct, of course, but that did not mean I had to relent for Arrow was sure not to. Rather than admit the obvious – that holding this grudge against the Doctor was slowly taking its toll on my mood – I doubled down on my anger and stood my ground. "You are mistaken, Arrow. There is nothing wrong with me; I am perfectly fine."

"Amelia…" He sighed in frustration, reverting to my forename out of clear desperation to get through to me. "For all the respect you have for me, please hear my thoughts just for a moment: have one conversation with Doctor Doppler - just one - to show that this is all it takes to vanquish this dismal sentiment-"

"I will never-"

"Amelia, please, you are harming yourself for the sake of your own pride! Do not let your own stubbornness deprive you of-"

At this point, I had slammed down a hand on my desk and leapt to my feet. For a brief second, my stalwart Arrow seemed to falter. Our eyes met – mine, I could feel were filled with fury. My patience with Arrow had been waning and now, I was at my wit's end. "Either you leave now," I said in a very controlled breath. "Or I do."

Arrow fell silent. I held his gaze, challenging him to open his mouth and continue speaking his drivel. He did not, until I was just about to sit back into my chair and forget that this conversation had ever happened when-

"I am merely trying to make you see sense. This whole nonsense with Doctor Doppler-"

Within a split of a second, I was at my cabin door.

"I have had enough of this," I hissed and stormed out of my stateroom. Arrow called out to protest but he was soon cut off by the slamming of the door. Once outside, I took a brief moment to recollect myself; it would do me no good to allow the watchmen to see me in such an emotional state. I took in a deep breath of cold air and closed my eyes. When I opened them, I noticed a figure staring straight at me.

Doctor Doppler was near the gunwales of the bridge, with a few books and a telescope at hand – yet his eyes were not fixed on the skies. They were instead fixed on my form. He had seen me, caught me fleeing my stateroom – and his brow had wrinkled itself in concern. His gaze, though initially consisting of surprise, transformed into a pained one.

My breath caught.

Our eyes had met and, astonishingly, the Doctor approached me for the first time since his repentant apology. "Captain?" He enquired in a gentle tone. "Are you-"

"I would strongly advise you to reconsider what you are about to ask, Doctor." I snapped at him.

He shut his mouth and retreated a step backwards. I felt a little twinge of guilt at my harshness but I did not relent. I had had enough of enquires in relation to my state of mind and my anger at Arrow had yet to dissipate. Instead of apologising for discourteous tone, I forced myself to move past him.

"I-I wanted to see you."

His voice remained soft and sincere. I stopped in my tracks but resisted the temptation to look over my shoulder. However, I could not prevent my left ear from swivelling towards him – nor could I prevent the small ache I felt at his admission.

"A-a-after your lunch, that is. It's just that – I wanted to return these to you."

Perplexed, I turned around. In the Doctor's outstretched hand were my old navigational textbooks – the ones I had loaned to aid him with his navigational project. Initially, I was incredibly surprised. Surely he did not truly feel confident with this new skill that he could return the books already? It can take years for one to be able to navigate successfully without the assistance of books!

"You may keep them for longer, Doctor, should you be in need of them."

"No-no…I-I do not need them anymore…but th-thank you for your generosity, Captain."

With an arched eyebrow, I took the books from his hands. "I must admit, Doctor, I am rather intrigued. Have you found these books to be inadequate or is it that you feel you can navigate correctly without their assistance?"

"Oh no – not at all, they have been invaluable! It's just that…well, I-I don't…I've given up." He admitted frankly, his face appearing downcast in a split second.

"Given up?" I blinked. "Whatever for? You were doing marvellously before…"

My sentence died on my lips. With the resurfacing memory of the Doctor's insult, so came the associated hurt and anger. The Doctor, at the mere indication to our quarrel, began to twist his hands in a sure sign of anxiety. He cleared his throat as though to try and cough away the awkwardness.

"Yes, well, I…I cannot see any point in carrying it on. The whole purpose of such a project was to aid you in some way and…now…I believe that to be i-impossible. And I know that you are very busy…you probably don't have the time to go checking an amateur's calculations."

I deliberated on this deeply for a moment. I had originally assigned Doctor Doppler the task in order to make him feel as though he was of some use to this ship by running his own calculations to compare with mine, even though I have not performed a navigational error in years. But this project has also kept the Doctor rather busy, and thus he has kept his nose in his books and out of my way. As I have not utilised his work, he had decided to abandon it and who knows what mischief he would get up to if he were not occupied with some other business? If he did not have these sights to take, would he have the boldness to approach me during our watches? No, that would not do. I could not leave him to run idly about this ship and thus get tangled up beneath my feet.

"I am sure I can find some time to check your work." I said decidedly. "Like I had said before, having two navigators aboard this ship can only prove to its advantage."

"R-really?"

I nodded. "Do you have your calculations on you right now? I could give them a quick check to see if you are on the right path?"

"Oh- oh! Yes, they're right – err, one second…" He began to search his coat pockets and then fervently moved to the inner pockets and the ones of his shirt. "Ah! Here they are – oh…"

The Doctor presented to me a leaf of crumpled, folded pages. He blushed in embarrassment of their state but I simply took them and began to flick through their contents. After running a quick eye down some of his equations, I could pick out some of the very few I had recently completed myself. His final co-ordinates were near the exact same as mine – and his mathematics were bang on! In conclusion, he had chartered a near-identical course to my own.

Well, I thought. How about that…

"Very good, Doctor." I praised. "These concur with my own calculations."

"They do?"

"Indeed. Although – you turn the Legacy a little too sharply. There is no need to run her so tightly; for the speed she is travelling and the strength of the current, it is better for her to run the curve a little less severely. But this knowledge comes with knowing the ship and the handling of her, which I do not expect you to know. Nonetheless, this is a very impressive first attempt."

"You…you really think so?"

"I do," I affirmed as I handed his creased papers back to him. "I will always give credit where it is deserved."

At this, some of the Doctor's anxiety melted away. He stood a little taller and began to give me a beaming smile. It was rather infectious but I kept my face passive with well-practised discipline. It pains me to admit but Arrow was right: the slightest of conversation with Doctor Doppler was enough for the heavy melancholy to begin lifting from my shoulders, even if our discussion was now far more carefully constructed and frigid. Since when has his man's presence become more of a soothing balm to myself than an irritant?

I shook myself out of this momentary reverie, and continued speaking. "It seems that you do not truly need to keep these books after all, Doctor. Are you sure you do not want to keep them just in case?"

My question seemed to break this spell; there was suddenly something…off about his body language. His smile seemed to freeze upon his face and redness returned to his cheeks. He gave sharp laugh, coughed, and quickly tried to divert the conversation elsewhere.

"Yes…ahem, well – no, no thank you - I have taken notes, you see…" He stammered along. He cleared his throat once more and clasped his hands behind his back. "Well, I had better – I should really – return to my cabin and…get some…observations…finished."

His telescope was in his left hand and so he did not need to return to his cabin at all. Something was wrong but I could not put my finger on it. I assumed this to be a feeble excuse to end the conversation and so I was not eager to object. "Of course," I nodded. "But carry on with the good work, Doctor."

The Doctor wasted no time disappearing below decks, shooting wary glances over his shoulder as he retreated. I suspected something was wrong with my textbooks, that perhaps he had vandalised them in some way – a spillage of coffee, an accidental torn page perhaps? No doubt that there was some reason why the Doctor was so keen to return them to my possession. So once the Doctor was out of sight, I began to flick through the pages to try and sniff out the reason for his flighty behaviour.

I eventually discovered what the issue was: it was an old photograph that I must have been using as a bookmark all those years ago when I had last used these books as references for study.

The photograph was faded slightly, flattened from years of confinement inside a book, but the image still undeniable. It was a family photograph that was taken when I was a baby. My father was present, having not long returned from space, and posed for the photograph dressed in his naval uniform. His stern face was long and framed by an impressive pair of sideburns and his lips obscured by his moustache. My mother, whose facial structure I resemble greatly, stood by my father's side. Her face was passively set to match my father's own expression as they both stared into the camera. I was held in her arms, wrapped in blankets, with a full head of hair and fattened cheeks. I also sported a large unashamed smile that drew the eye easily due to the contrast against the proud countenances of my parents.

This photograph was only a copy; I have the original framed and stored safely in my private quarters, but when I was younger and could only carry what would fit in my space-chest, I kept a smaller version of the photograph as a keepsake. For years, I doubled its usage as a bookmark to save my pages during my studies until one day, I put down my navigational textbook and never felt compelled to open it again. But I had foolishly forgotten about this photograph, hidden in the pages of my neglected textbooks, and unwittingly handed it over to Doctor Doppler that fateful day.

And, without a doubt, he had seen it.

Unable to return to my cabin, I continued with my rounds whilst carrying my textbooks under my arm. My rounds below deck were completed within the hour and I found the Legacy to be running along adequately.

Mr Dogbreath and Ms Krailoni had made a meagre start in the crew's quarters. As I passed through, the hammocks had already been removed for washing but little else had been done. I berated them for their dilly-dallying and ordered them to make a start organising the large pile-up of chests and belongings that was accumulating in one corner of the room. One of the ever-accruing issues with this crew is that they cannot keep their quarters in the barest of tidy states. The smell, I cannot even begin to describe. It is foul – the stench of built up night-sweat and poor personal hygiene amongst the crew. A Felinid's sense of smell is rather keen, so I was eager to get myself out of there as soon as possible.

With my rounds concluded, I returned to my now-vacant stateroom to stow my textbooks and the photograph away in my cabin dresser. For a while I stayed there, resisting the temptation to dash my head against a wall, cursing myself for my own stupidity – why had I not checked the books before handing them over? Hindsight is a wonderful thing but dear Heavens, Amelia, you utter fool! You were so wrapped up in these feelings of amity that you were so unbelievably careless! How could you dare to hand over such a personal item? What were you thinking?

These thoughts swam around my mind and I collapsed into my desk chair, my head falling into my hands. I felt so exposed – this figure of absolute authority and professionalism that I have built up was, undoubtedly, forever tarnished in the eyes of Doctor Doppler. Would this man always look at me now and remember that image of the impish babe who would smile unabashedly at a camera? Surely, there was no going back now – any hopes of reducing our relationship to nothing more than acquaintances were now ruined – too many tales of my past, too many moments with my guard lowered, and now a photograph of me as a baby? How could he ever see me as the authoritative, sensible Captain of the ship? No – all he will see is a grinning fool offering cups of tea and engaging in talks of treasure maps and other tomfoolery.

I sat here wallowing in this self-anger, wondering if the day could possibly get any worse, when Arrow barged into my stateroom with not even a brisk knock.

"Arrow, I am not in the mood-"

My protests died when I caught the enraged look on his face. It had been many years since I had last seen him so angry. What had angered him, it did not take me long to notice.

In one of his mighty hands, he held a laslock pistol.

And it did certainly not belong to him.

The laslock pistol was nothing truly remarkable. It was an old model, a rather cheap weapon, and in dire need of a polish. Its body was marred with little dents and chips in the metalwork. Similar pistols can be found in every spaceport in the galaxy, tucked in the belts and hidden in the coats of all kinds of life-forms. Most spacers own one, perhaps two, but no crewmember is allowed to be armed on my ship without my permission. Laslocks are dangerous weapons and all it takes is a misfire or an accidental mishandle of the trigger to end someone's life. Even with the best of crews, I am not willing to take my chances.

Thus, at the commencement of every voyage I undertake, Arrow and I collect the crew's weapons and store them in the armoury. They are returned to their owners once the crew disembarks for the final time from the Legacy. It is a common practice on most ships, and so most crews do not make a fuss about having to hand over their weapons for they know if a situation occurred, I would ensure that they were equipped. When Arrow and I repeated the ritual before we set off on this voyage, we had no complaints from the crew. In my five year career as a for-hire, I have not seen a single weapon aboard my ship that I did not personally place into the hands of my crew.

Until Arrow set that blasted pistol down on my desk in front of me.

I could hardly believe my eyes. I picked it up gently to check with my own hands that it was truly there and not some trick. To my great dismay, it was no illusion. It was cold yet light to handle – as such a firearm should be.

"Where did you get this?" I asked Arrow in a breathless voice.

"I was inspecting Mr Dogbreath and Ms Krailoni's work in the crew quarter's. While Mr Dogbreath was moving some of the crew's storage, he gauchely managed to drop a few space-chests. Among the items that spilled out, this was among them."

I turned the pistol over in my hands once again. I checked its load; it had a full charge. A fully loaded weapon had made its way onto my ship without my knowledge or consent, and has been easily within reach of the crew for nearly three weeks.

A cold sense of dread crept up my spine and I suddenly felt incredibly sick.

Arrow and I's earlier quarrel soon paled away and was simultaneously forgiven and forgotten. We now had a far greater concern to deal with – an armed crew, a crew we never liked the initial look of, hording and hiding weapons under our very noses.

"Who does the space-chest belong to?" I asked.

"There was no name or label. Mr Dogbreath and Ms Krailoni claim that they do not know who it belongs to."

"Is this the only weapon you found?"

"I have not given the room a proper inspection. I thought it best to report immediately to you."

I turned the pistol again in my hands and looked at my distorted reflection in the metal pieces of its body. "This is none to my liking, Arrow."

"And none to mine, ma'am." Arrow muttered darkly. "This crew may be lazy and uncouth but…I hardly suspected them of such dishonesty. To smuggle aboard a loaded weapon…it is a vile act of betrayal."

As if I hardly trusted the imbeciles in the first place.

And yet, I could not imagine an event like this.

"Summon the hands to the middeck immediately," I spat out between gritted teeth. "I want every soul before the bridge. While they are there, I want you to tear that room apart. Check for anything that may be used as a weapon and bring it to me. I am about to make those swarming, gutless bilge-rats wish they had never set foot aboard my ship."

Arrow did not let me down – within minutes, the crew were all gathered below the bridge, a few muttering between themselves and exchanging dark looks. They all fell silent as I took my place at the helm and glared down at the rampallions below me.

"And to which of you Devils does this belong to?" I sneered as I held up the pistol for them all to see. There were a few expressions of shock but none claimed ownership of the weapon. I stared down at the dumb crowd unflinchingly, my heart-rate increasing with each infuriating second. I examined each one of their faces with great scrutiny, yet I could not pick out a clear culprit. "Oh? So this laslock just grew legs and waltzed right onto my ship without my noticing, hm? Well then, if it does not belong to anyone, then it shall not be missed."

With that and a strong arm, I hurled the laslock straight over the port side of the ship and out into the Etherium.

"There are to be no unsanctioned weaponry of any kind on this ship! I distinctly recall you all being informed of this as you came aboard." I yelled, my nose scrunched up with anger and my teeth bared provokingly. There was certainly no muttering or mumblings now; it was as if every crewmember had held their breaths.

I leaned back slightly and locked my arms behind my back. "Seeing as the culprit has not come forward, consider your alcohol privileges revoked for every single one of you. From now on, you all will have nothing to drink but water. If I ever decide to grant you shore leave, your belongings will be searched before they are brought aboard. Any attempt to smuggle anything – be it a weapon or unprohibited drinks – you will be dismissed without pay. Have I made myself clear?"

The response I received was pitiful.

"I said have I made myself clear?"

Finally, they gave a chorus of affirmation.

"Mr Silver?"

"Aye, Cap'n?" The over-sized cyborg shambled forward to report.

"Once the crew is dismissed, you and Mr Hawkins are to bring up all the rum from the galley. Mr Arrow will store it elsewhere for now."

"Aye, Cap'n – and may I jus' say, ma'am, that yer have every right to do so! A tight ship's a happy ship-"

I rolled my eyes and prowled away from the gunwale, too enraged to tolerate his obnoxious, toady behaviour. I refused to dismiss the crew until Mr Arrow returned from his ransack of the crew's quarters. While they waited uneasily, I paced about the bridge impatiently, my hands clasped behind my back. When Arrow finally emerged from the crew's quarters, he carried with him a small hemp sack, weighted down by a few contents. My heart sunk at the sight of it; evidently, there was more than one offender here.

Arrow opened the sack wordlessly as he approached. I peered inside; there were two more laslock pistols, and a rather crooked dagger. I pulled them out and asked the crew if anyone wanted to claim ownership of these items. Yet again I was met with guilt-ridden silence. The contents of the sack soon joined the other laslock over the side of the ship.

"I have never been more disgusted with a crew's performance as I have been with yours." I addressed the crew once more, grimacing with sheer contempt. "Your papers claim you to be an outstanding crew of spacers – what a pack of lies! First the poor lack of performance, then smuggling weapons - and now the perpetrators amongst you for this crime are too cowardly to take responsibility for their actions – I don't know what kind of ghastly rock Doctor Doppler found you all lurking under but one more mishap and you can all return to it promptly. You are all dismissed."

Wordlessly, they all began to disperse. The watchman Mr Scroop went aloft, Ms Krailoni and Mr Dogbreath returned to the crew's quarters to continue their cleaning. The rest began to swarm towards the galley; none wished to stay under my wrathful gaze. I watched them all leave with one hand resting on my own laslock pistol that I had attached to my belt. Thankfully, I had no cause to use it. There were no protests, no infractions. Strange – I would have expected a crew so undisciplined to nearly riot at such an announcement.

With Mr Scroop high aloft, Arrow and I now had the deck to ourselves. He had to remain to stand watch so thus, I approached him closely and kept my voice low.

"I cannot be the only one surprised by their lack of response?" I questioned.

Arrow replied in an equally hushed tone. "One would expect a more outraged reaction to revoked alcohol privileges from this sort of crew…"

We both waited in perturbed silence, yet the outburst we were expecting did not come; Mr Silver and Mr Hawkins emerged from the galley, shouldering a barrel of rum between them, and they set it down near the ship's gravitational generator. While Arrow hauled the barrel over his broad shoulder, I lingered nearby and acted as his guard but I was not needed; the crew remained in the galley, the sound of their chatter droning up through the grated vents.

"I am not sure if I should be grateful or suspicious…" I muttered to Arrow as he stored the rum within the armoury. "What kind of crew is disobedient enough to smuggle weapons aboard a ship but not enough to voice complaints when denied their ration of rum?"

"They are certainly an unconventional bunch."

I scoffed as Arrow exited the armoury, locked the door, and returned its key to me. "That is one thing to call them. Where Doctor Doppler found them in order to hire them, I would be interested to know."

"You…could ask him, ma'am." Arrow said very carefully. I glared at him at the implication of such a suggestion, especially so soon after our earlier 'discussion', and he began to backpedal. "He will have to be informed of this event, no matter how you feel, and if you were to do it, you could perhaps enquire into how he employed them."

"No, it does not matter. They are here now, and we are stuck with them for the time being – but you are right that Doctor Doppler must be informed." I admitted while pocketing the keys. We began to make our way to the bridge in silence, for Arrow did not offer to inform the Doctor of the incident himself. The crafty creature was surely hoping I would go, unaware that the Doctor and I had already spoken not an hour before. Tired of waiting for Arrow to volunteer, I finally opened my mouth to condemn his aspiration. "You will tell him, of course, when the two of you are having your supper in the wardroom this evening, unless you bump into him sooner?"

"I had assumed we would be dining together, Captain?"

"Not tonight – I wish to complete my rounds and turn in early before the morning watch." I gave Arrow an innocent smile. "But so you do not grieve my absence – how about we meet for a game of cards tomorrow? Usual time, of course?"

Arrow, at this, conceded. "Aye, ma'am. I shall look forward to it."

"Excellent," I replied. "Then I shall leave you to your watch and see you later with your evening rounds report. Any sign of trouble – I will be in my cabin. Good day, Arrow."

"Aye, ma'am. Good day."

With that I left the bridge, oblivious to the cunning plan Arrow must have already been forming in his mind.

The rest of the day was spent in my stateroom, preparing to chart our course from Epsilon to our next port of call, with one ear consistently listening for any commotion on deck. I was partially distracted from my work by worries that had arisen since Arrow discovered those blasted pistols – and I was hence more troubled again by the crew's placated response to the punishment I had inflicted for such a reckless breaking of the rules. They had been so quiet. If this crew were anything that resembled a true naval crew, then I would not have been so bothered – but for a crew who have consistently disobeyed orders by brawling and shirking duties, with hardly a braincell to share between the lot of them? For them not to raise a single voice in anger over losing their precious rum, one of the few luxuries available to spacers? Perhaps they are more disciplined than I thought, but then why does this discipline not shine through in their duties around the ship?

Something about this whole affair has unsettled me but I fear the answer – should there be one – is just out of my grasp.

To be vigilant, during my final rounds of the night, I took extra precaution and examined every nook and cranny aboard this vessel. The galley received my particular attention, as this is the only other area where the crew congregate. Mr Silver caught sight of me running a hand underneath each of the seats at the tables, and ensured me not to worry my 'pretty head' about those pistols, for there's always one spacer with a few bolts looser than the rest. In a sense, it was true (some elder spaces can be awfully paranoid about being parted from their laslock but they are few and far between) but I dismissed him for his unnecessary comments. Meanwhile, Ms Krailoni and Mr Dogbreath certainly doubled down on their efforts to clean the quarters after I reprimanded the crew. The crew's quarters are now in a far better condition, and the hammocks are fresh and clean. I begrudgingly praised them for this but I must admit, they had done a fine job in the end.

With my duties for the day wrapped up, I turned in for a few hours of fitful rest before rising early to take the morning watch.

This time, Doctor Doppler did not avoid my company.

He approached me to report his attendance, and in spite of my best efforts to appear unaffected, I found it rather difficult to meet his eye knowing that he had been exposed to the private photograph he discovered within my textbooks. Once I had announced the watch had begun, he lingered by the mizzenmast instead of dashing off to the forecastle as he had done the previous two nights. I said nothing, hoping his courage would fail him and he would not approach me for a second time but, alas, I was not so fortunate.

"Uh…Captain?"

"Yes, Doctor?" I bit back a disproving sigh.

"Err – Mr Arrow told me about th-the gun he found."

"I am glad to hear that."

There was a pause; no doubt, the Doctor was hoping I would carry on the conversation into something with more substance. I did not, so he attempted once more.

"Do you…do you have any concerns? A-about-"

"I have issued a punishment accordingly, Doctor, and the crew are on their final warning." I interrupted, keeping my eyes fixed on the horizon rather than turn meet his own. "There is nothing more I can do in the time being."

"But you d-don't believe that…something could-"

"Most spacers carry their own personal laslock, Doctor, as well as the vile breed of scum that lurk around the more sordid parts of space-stations. It seems to me that this crew is of that stock, and rather than respect the rules of this ship, prefer to break them out of ill-discipline and base tendencies. You have nothing to worry about."

"But you won't…you…you won't quit, will you?"

I blinked at his question and turned to face him. His face was so pale, I almost assumed his space-sickness had made a return. "What do you mean?"

"Well…you said before that you can quit this at anytime and…if you are so unhappy with the crew-"

"I will not maroon you, Doctor." I reassured him gently. "If this crew continues to be disobedient, then I will break the contract on the citation that they are being recalcitrant – but you also have the option to break your contract with them. If it does come to it and I can no longer sail this ship with such a crew, there is always the option for you to cut your business with them and I will find us a suitable crew at the next port. If you wish to stay with them, then I will leave and the Royal Navy will find you a different ship and commander."

"I want to stay with you – err, if you come to that ultimatum, of course." The Doctor said rather quickly, the colour slowly returning to his face.

"If I must make that call, then I will. It is ultimately down to the crew – their behaviour on our approach to Epsilon will seal their fate." I replied. I hesitated for a moment before I decided to voice a thought that had suddenly occurred. "I hope you understand that…I cannot continue to command this crew if they continue to be so…detrimental to our safety and progress. They may have seemingly harmless reasons for refusing to hand over their laslocks, but it is still a rather serious offence. That gun could have harmed either of us, either on purpose or by accident. I will not have that risk aboard my ship."

"I understand completely, Captain." The Doctor nodded and gave me a small, shy smile. "I, um - I have long learnt that you would not do anything to put us in the way of danger."

For brief moment, I forgot everything about our quarrel and returned the Doctor's smile on instinct. His eyes seemed to light up at this, a spark of hope perhaps that the coldness between us was beginning to thaw once again. At the very sight of this spark, I remembered my vow and the smile faded off my face – and with it the shine in the Doctor's dark eyes.

He cleared his throat awkwardly and broke our eye contact. "I-I…I should probably…go take some…observations."

"I think that would be best."

These six small words seemed to break his spirit. His shoulders slumped and he departed with a weak nod of respect. I said nothing and instead watched him stray towards the forecastle once more. It was a long time before I saw him lower his telescope from his eye and then, slowly, glance over his shoulder at me. Evidently, it was not only I who was suffering by my choices.

Despite every worrying thing that had happened that day – the discovery of those blasted laslocks, the betrayal of trust with the crew, Arrow and I's quarrel, the Doctor's exposure to a photograph of myself as a babe – the chief and principle concern that plagued my mind during that watch was the absolute dismay on the Doctor's face and how I ardently wanted to fix misery. But despite having the means to do so, I was bound by my own professionalism and stubborn ways not to.

Dear Heavens, I hope I have made the right decision.