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Nathanial was quiet for a moment. He did not care for the dismissive tone in Folkard’s voice, and was reminded of the way the bridge had responded when the captain had ordered the ship towards the glow. The crew were too well trained to openly question orders, but even to someone like Nathanial, who had no military blood in him whatsoever, he could feel a change in the crew. It was almost of if they were all uncertain of their captain, but this did not stop them carrying out his orders.

“Then I trust to your faith in your officer, Captain Folkard,” Nathanial said shortly. What choice did he really have? Besides which he had been around Folkard for some time now, and believed he was starting to understand the captain a little. This was likely another of his tests.

“As you should, Professor, as indeed you should, after all your safety, and possibly that of Miss Somerset, lies in the hands of me and my crew.”

2.

GEORGE BEDFORD had his eye on Ordinary Seaman Stevenson; there was something about the lad he did not trust, and he still could not figure it out. It was much the same with Professor Stone, which disconcerted Bedford. He liked to have the cut of a man’s gib, but with Stone it was not his concern since the professor was a guest of Captain Folkard and thus not his responsibility, but the personnel on the ship were very much Bedford’s concern. He had to trust, implicitly trust, those who worked beneath him on his ship, and Stevenson was something of a mystery. He came recommended highly enough, the boatswain had served with him before on their previous assignment, and thus far Stevenson had given no reason for Bedford’s ill feeling. Nonetheless, still it was there. So far Stevenson had performed admirably; taken the lead on more than one occasion. He was good officer material. Even now he led the way as they walked through the damaged flyer, his carbine held before him.

In Bedford’s experience, though, most men proved to be brave when they held a weapon in their hands; even cowards. It was as if by the very presence of a tool of death they tapped into something primal. Bedford had never been a believer in God, despite his parents’ continued attempt to instil in him strong Christian values, and when he had discovered a copy of Darwin’s book at the inquisitive age of fourteen so much had made sense to him. All one had to do was look around, see what was happening on Mars between the Red Devils and the Earthmen. He was reminded of Mister Kipling who, upon returning from Mars, had a poem published in The Times only a few months ago; Earth Man’s Burden.

“Take up the Earth Man’s burden,

Send forth the best ye breed.

Go bind your sons to exile,

To serve your captives needs;

To wait in heavy harness,

On fluttered folk and wild.

Your new-caught, sullen peoples,

Red Devil and Earth Child.”

The poem went on to describe the need for the people of Earth to go out and educate and spread their culture among the natives of the other worlds. It was something Bedford agreed with wholeheartedly; mankind was born to be superior to all of nature.

Which brought him back to Stevenson. This was a young man who knew the truth, who saw the nature of man. He took to the ladder fearlessly, regardless of the potential risk of entering the vacuum in only an atmosphere suit, when more experienced ratings stood to one side, hesitating. Now, despite, of perhaps because of, the risk he led the way through the wreckage. Perhaps armed Russian okhrana awaited them in the shadows, or maybe even those moon men of which they heard such horrific tales. Cautious Stevenson may have been, but if his reactions were not extra sharp he would soon fall before a superior force if one awaited them. Yet onwards he continued.

Certainly something about Stevenson did not sit well with Bedford, but he was developing a growing respect for the young man. Miller, on the other hand, was the complete opposite. Still too fresh, but ideal material for shaping into the kind