"Very well, Mr. Durk. Let's see what you can do." He spoke with forced calm. "Take command."
Rawson's crane-like legs patted on the jerking deck of the space ship, and as he entered his cabin he was smiling grimly to himself.
He sat down in darkness, and his smile widened when the emergency lights flashed on. Durk was a good man for things like that.
Rawson was turning over some papers on his desk when a young cyclone burst through the open door without knocking. "Captain, sir!" young Seymour cried, bounding forward. "I overheard—"
Rawson snapped to his feet. "Mr. Seymour, attention! Please leave and enter like a gentleman."
The cabin boy folded up like a tornado that had lost its wind. Meekly he turned and walked out of the cabin, closed the door. A rap sounded.
"Come in."
As Seymour entered, Rawson hastily turned the sheet of paper on his desk face down. He greeted the young man with a smile.
"That's better. Always be a gentleman. If for no one's but your own self-respect."
"Yes, sir." Seymour had troubled eyes. "I came to report I overheard the crew talking. Said somethin' about taking over. I don't get it, sir. Does it mean mutiny?"