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“The pinch of the game, sir?” he said, lightly, as he hefted the oxygen tank onto his back. He almost staggered into the nearest bulkhead, the weight of the tank catching him off his guard. It was only the steady hand of Lieutenant Bedford that prevented him from damaging either the tank or bulkhead – or, perhaps, even both!

“Quite right, Ordinary Seaman,” Bedford said, no responding lightness in his tone. “Now, no more chatter.”

Stevenson attempted a clumsy salute, which went unremarked upon by Bedford. “Yes, sir.”

Bedford, who already had his tank attached, helped Stevenson fasten the straps that held the tank to him, then turned to assist the seaman who stood beside Stevenson. Even though Bedford walked as if the tank weighed nothing on his back, Stevenson was glad to see that the rest of the Luna party were having as much difficulty with the weight as he. Most of the team had more experience than Stevenson, although there was one lad, surely younger than he, for whom serving on the Sovereign was his first active role in the Navy. They had only been on the ship for two weeks, helping her to get ready for the shakedown cruise that was supposed to happen the following month…It was simply meant to be a routine trip through the aether, to ensure that all systems were operating before the captain took over, but the urgency of the current mission had negated that shakedown. Now, three weeks ahead of schedule, they were out in the aether, on an actual mission. Most performed their duties well, not allowing the unexpected change to affect them, but Stevenson had seen the lad, Stevenson was sure his name was Miller, here and there, looking more nervous as each day passed.

Stevenson offered the rating a reassuring smile, which only served to make Miller more nervous. Not that it was his place to question his superiors, but Stevenson did wonder why anyone would recommend this young man attend this mission.

“Helmets on,” Bedford ordered.

Stevenson could not be sure, and would not like to place a hand on the Bible and testify to the fact, but there did appear to be a slight trace of humour in Bedford’s voice then. As well there ought to be.

Their helmets sat between their legs. While the other ratings sought different ways to manoeuvre themselves into a position that would enable them to retrieve their helmets without being capsized by the weight of the tanks on their backs, Stevenson stood there and waited. He had always been taught by his father that the best way to learn was by seeing the mistakes others made, and not repeat them himself. Such mistakes were being displayed in the airlock around him. He glanced over at Lieutenant Bedford who had somehow retrieved his helmet already and was bolting it into place.

Stevenson watched him, studying his superior, wracking his brain for some clue as to how Bedford had achieved the patently impossible. Movement from the corner of his eye offered the solution he needed. Ensign Challoner was in a crouch, one hand resting on a handle that had been screwed into the bulkhead, balancing himself, while the other hand reached down for the helmet. Stevenson turned his head, and saw similar handles ranged along the deck behind the seamen still struggling to claim their helmets. Now he understood. Bedford had clearly known about the handles, since there was one behind him, too, as well as lined across the bulkhead opposite, but he had counted on the nervousness of actually going into a vacuum to disorientate his team. It was a test.

Stevenson had heard stories about Captain Folkard, how he liked to test new members of his crew to ensure they were worthy of serving with him, and it seemed that it was a trait Lieutenant Bedford had picked up.

Stevenson gripped the handle and lowered himself into a crouch. He would remember this about the first officer. Another thing his father had taught him; to be always mindful of others.

Once everyone had finally secured their helmets,