The Watchmen By Ben Bova

“Yes sir.”

The exec remained at attention before the desk.

“I said you may go,” Aikens repeated.

“There’s one more item, sir. That Star Watch officer who joined the Force two days ago. He’s still waiting to see you, sir.”

Aikens slammed a heavy hand on the desktop. “The situation isn’t bad enough! Now I have to put up with shavetails from the Star Watch Academy who want to peep over my shoulder!”

“Sir, he’s been waiting two days, and his orders are direct from Star Watch Headquarters.”

Aikens fumed silently for a few moments, then said, “All right, get him in here. On the double.”

“Very well, sir.” The exec saluted, turned, and ducked through the low doorway of Aikens’ cubbyhole officer

After a few minutes of searching through the dreadnaught’s command section, the exec found Vorgens hunched beside a seated technician in the communications compartment, staring intently at a static-streaked viewscreen.

“It’s no good, sir,” the technician was saying. “The enemy has every frequency jammed. We can’t get a word in or out.”

Vorgens straightened up. His black-and-silver uniform was in stark contrast to the bright-colored coveralls that identified the crewmen’s various jobs aboard the dreadnaught.

“I see,” the Watchman said. “Thank you anyway.”

“So here’s where you’ve been hiding,” the exec called out. “Come on, the brigadier wants to see you right away.”

Vorgens stepped out of the communications compartment and into the narrow passageway.

“I’ve been trying to establish contact with the cities or Star Watch Headquarters. No luck,” Vorgens said as they started down the passageway –

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