He cursed his own stubbornness as he stared down at the deck.  If he’d been thinking, he would have gracefully accepted the First Space Lord’s attempt to remove him from starship command.  God knew there were few officers who had served on armoured carriers, let alone spent so long improvising improvements to the original design.  Ted could have worked in the planning office, assisting the designers to prepare updated designs for carriers and battleships that would have combined modern technology and older systems to create powerful warships.  Or he could have found a place in the Admiralty, doing paperwork to allow other – more capable – officers to take command.

But no, he’d had to keep his starship.  He’d had to keep command.

He pulled himself to his feet and stumbled over towards the safe in the bulkhead, pressing his hand against the sensor so it could read the implant buried within his palm.  It clicked open, revealing ten bottles of expensive alcohol.  He'd considered disposing of them when he’d realised that Ark Royal was going back into active service, but he hadn't been able to convince himself to take the plunge.  Maybe he would have served them at a dinner for his fellow commanders – he damned himself, silently, for not speaking more with them – if they hadn't all died because of his mistakes.  Ark Royal had only escaped because the European frigates had sacrificed themselves ...

Their sacrifice was in vain, he told himself, as he picked up a bottle at random.  Fancy wine, he noted, from the Picard Vineyards on Mars.  Who would have thought that humanity’s first and last full-scale experiment with terraforming would have produced a modified grape that could be made into an elegant wine?  Not that Ted really cared about the details, he had to admit, or the pretensions harboured by wine snobs.  All he really cared about was the alcoholic content, the ability to blot out his mind and escape the pain.  He would have called the Chief Engineer and ordered rotgut if Anderson hadn't been so busy.

Ted poured himself a glass, then took a long swig.  The wine tasted fruity on his tongue, leaving a pleasant trail of fire as it ran down his throat and into his stomach.  It had been months since he’d touched a drop, he realised, as he felt his head start to spin.  There was no longer any need to drink heavily in order to achieve drunkenness.  His fingers twitched, dropping the glass on the deck.  Cursing, Ted picked up the bottle and put it to his lips.