Rogers let the weak attempt at an insult slide off of him. “You’re an Academy officer?”

Academy officers were known for being a little arrogant, if competent. But this McSchmidt looked more like a lost puppy who had just learned how to bark. Normally, these kinds of dopes were easy meat for the experienced enlisted corps, but nobody seemed to have done their job of putting McSchmidt in his place.

“Yes,” McSchmidt said, suddenly frowning. “I just said that, didn’t I? Why would I say that if it wasn’t true? I went to the Academy, making me an Academy officer.”

“Okay, okay,” Rogers said. “Calm down. The Academy has a great academic reputation. What did you major in?”

“Of course I had a major! Of course I majored in something! Why wouldn’t I major in something at the Academy that I went to? I majored in political science. That’s obviously why I’m in engineering.” McSchmidt was breathing rather heavily, and he appeared to be breaking out in a sweat.

Rogers raised an eyebrow. “What the hell does political science have to do with engineering?”

“Everything!” McSchmidt snapped in a sudden burst of indignity. “It’s the engineering of people, of cultures, of nations!”

“Yeah,” Rogers said, “but do you know which way to turn a wrench?”

“Engineering über alles!” the ensign shouted. “Now if you don’t have any business in the Pit, I’ll thank you to get out of the way.”

Without another word, McSchmidt turned and walked away, directing his anger toward a pair of corporals who were using a hoverlift to move a small fusion generator from one side of the room to the other, where a whole array of generators were arranged in a totally useless and potentially hazardous pyramid formation.

“Don’t mind him,” someone said.

Rogers turned to find the young woman the ensign had been “encouraging” standing next to him. She was stocky but not exactly heavy, her sandy brown hair tucked up in a bun. Her uniform didn’t quite fit properly, giving him the impression of a girl in her mother’s clothes. She looked at him with a pair of dull brown eyes set in a walnut-colored face, her mouth turned up in a wry smile.

“What’s with the walking anachronism?” Rogers said, jerking a thumb at McSchmidt.

“Academy funding for political science is in the tubes, thanks to the Two Hundred Years’ (and Counting) Peace,” she said. “The only thing they study anymore is old world history textbooks. You should hear him talk about Napoleon.”

“It requires more courage to suffer than to die!” McSchmidt shouted.

“Anyway,” the engineer said, “you should come back later if you want to tour the facility. Almost everyone you knew when you were here has been transferred, but I’ll show you around. I’m Sergeant Lopez.”

“R. Wilson Rogers,” Rogers said, and extended his hand. “You don’t know anywhere on this ship where I can get a drink, do you?”

Lopez grinned. “This is the engineering bay, Ensign.”

Rogers let out a sigh of relief. “Thank god. I think you and I are going to get along just fine, Lopez. Just fine. I’ll be back later for my tour.”