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too?”
    â€œNo,” Yana said. “We’re bridge crew, so we berth with the rest of our family on the top deck.”
    â€œThat’s where you’ll be staying as well, Mr. Vass,” Tycho added. “And this is the wardroom. The belowdecks officers eat here, but during combat this room is cleared and becomes the surgeon’s operating theater.”
    Vass nodded distractedly, peering at the crewers surrounding them.
    â€œBut these people can’t all be officers. Where do they sleep?”
    â€œIn hammocks,” Yana said. “Back on the main portion of this deck.”
    â€œI didn’t see any,” Vass said, retreating to look up into the maze of struts and girders they’d passed through earlier. “Where are they?”
    â€œWe need to hurry, Tyke,” Yana said in a low voice. Tycho shrugged helplessly.
    â€œRight now they’re stowed for departure,” Tycho told Vass. “The crewers lash them to their footlockers, which are magnetized so they can be attached to the girders. ‘Lash up and stow,’ we call it.”
    â€œAh. Can I see?”
    Yana reached out to grab a young crewer’s shoulder. “You there. Would you unfurl your hammock for a visitor?”
    â€œWhich I jes’ stowed it,” grumbled the crewer, who wasn’t more than a year or two older than the twins.
    Yana took a step back, astonished.
    â€œYana, he’s new,” Tycho said hastily—the crewer’sname escaped him, but Tycho had read the articles to him less than an hour before.
    â€œPardon, Master Hashoone,” the young man muttered, raising his knuckle to his forehead. “Didn’t see yeh there.”
    Yana stepped forward until her nose was a millimeter from the crewer’s.
    â€œI see you’ve met my brother. I’m Yana Hashoone—bridge crew. Now, do I need to repeat my order?”
    Before the crewer could say anything, Grigsby emerged from the passageway that led to the wardroom.
    â€œWhat’s this then?” he asked.
    â€œMr. Vass, this is Mr. Grigsby, our warrant officer,” Tycho said.
    â€œPleasure,” Grigsby muttered, but his eyes were fixed on Yana and the crewer.
    â€œI didn’t mean to cause any difficulty, Masters,” Vass said. “Perhaps we could continue the tour later?”
    â€œWhat’s your name?” Yana asked the young crewer.
    â€œImmanuel Sier. Signed on this morning out of Port Town.”
    â€œYou don’t sound Jovian, Mr. Sier,” Yana said.
    â€œMum came to Port Town from Enceladus,” Immanuel said, raising his chin to stare back at Yana.
    â€œA Saturnian?” Yana asked. “Who doesn’t salute and talks back to officers? Like we don’t have enough problems these days?”
    â€œYana, Mr. Sier signed the articles and has been read in,” Tycho objected.
    â€œI’m Saturnian—and what of that?” Immanuel demanded. “Bein’ Jovian don’t make yeh better’n me, miss.”
    One of Grigsby’s big hands closed around the front of Immanuel’s jumpsuit and dragged him away from Yana.
    â€œThat’s Mistress Hashoone , crewer,” Grigsby growled, his eyes bulging. “You make your apology right now, Mr. Sier—or I’ll throw you to the crimps.”
    â€œMeant no disrespect, Masters,” said Immanuel, his knuckle rising slowly to barely graze his brow.
    â€œâ€˜Meant’ ain’t what matters on my deck,” Grigsby rumbled. “And now you’ll come with me.”
    Vass stared after Immanuel as Grigsby propelled the unfortunate crewer toward the wardroom.
    â€œUm, as we were saying, Mr. Vass, once we’re under way the crewers will tie up their hammocks between the girders here and sleep in watches,” Tycho said. “We have seven aboard the Comet— the first watch starts at 2000 and lasts four hours, followed by the middle watch, morning watch,