“I know that.”
“Know what it means, eh? This ship, in Space, is a legally recognized planet. I’m absolute ruler. In Space, what I say goes. Central Committee of the Confederacy can’t say otherwise. I’ve got to maintain discipline and no spy—”
“All right, and now let me tell you something, captain. You’re charted by the Bureau of Outer Provinces to carry a government-sponsored research expedition to the Lagrange System, to maintain it there as long as research necessity requires and the safety of the crew and vessel permits, and then to bring us home. You’ve signed that contract and you’ve assumed certain obligations, captain or not. For instance, you can’t tamper with our instruments and destroy their research usefulness.”
“Who in Space is doing that?” The captain’s voice was a blast of indignation.
Sheffield replied calmly, “You are. Hands off Mark Annuncio, captain. Just as you’ve got to keep your hands off Cimon’s monochrome and Vailleux’s microptics, you’ve got to keep your hands off my Annuncio. And that means each one of your ten four-striped fingers. Got it?”
The captain’s uniformed chest expanded. “I take no order on board my own ship. Your language is a breach of discipline, Mister Sheffield. Any more like that and it’s cabin arrest—you and your Annuncio. Don’t like it, then speak to Board of Review back on Earth. Till then, it’s tongue behind teeth.”
“Look, captain, let me explain something. Mark is in the -Mnemonic Service—”
“Sure, he said so. Nummonic Service. Nummonic Service. It’s plain secret police as far as I’m concerned. Well, not on board my ship, eh?”
“Mnemonic Service,” said Sheffield, patiently. “Emm-enn-eee-emm-oh-enn-eye-see Service. You don’t pronounce the first emm. It’s from a Greek word meaning memory.”
The captain’s eyes narrowed. “He remembers things?”