"Ensign Fishdollar, you utter lamb, did you honestly not know that?" he finished with a roar.
Ensign Fishdollar swung his head dumbly.
"You know, Ensign Fishdollar, that the Patrol regards as null any marriage with a citizen of a non-treaty planet," the captain said softly.
The savage self-biting of his autonomic nervous system almost made him grimace as he bent wordlessly to the paper and signed "Stephen Fishdollar." The inner song was dead.
"You may go home now, Mr. Fishdollar," the captain said. "I will send your personal effects, less uniforms, ashore before I lift out."
Mr. Fishdollar turned away. Captain Kravitz came around the desk and laid an arm across his shoulders.
"Sit down again, Stephen," he said soberly. "I had to play it out to the end, but I don't want you leaving on that note, lad."
They sat down, on the same side of the desk.
"Stephen," the captain said gently, "all youngsters worth their salt chafe at the policy of restricted settlement and exploration. I did and I still do, but I never had the courage to act directly."
He paused and closed his eyes, then continued.