11.
 The next morning, the Inspector called the senior officers to a meeting in the Viking-style mead hall. There were about fifty men and women, including Mars and the rest, and they stood shyly in a circle around the central rug. Someone had kindly made coffee and served cookies. Someone else had turned down the harsh lighting and lit the torches Jupiter had loved so much, which now roiled and smoked and flickered in their wall sconces. No glistening dark dancers now, Mars thought, no Egyptian belly dancers for the men and Nubian athletes for the women. Hard to believe it was all over.
“You call this a gymnasium?” The Inspector began in his best Captain Blight manner. He waved his arms up and down as if pumping air into a bellows. Just warming up, Mars guessed.
“This is an outrage,” the Inspector screamed. “An outrage. You will all be court-martialed. I will hang you out to dry!”
As the shouting continued, most of the officers pulled up easy chairs or love seats or just sprawled on the rug. The rug itself was from a kingdom in India where the weavers took up to twenty years to hand-braid a single masterpiece like this one, inches thick and impervious to years of spilled mead and stray pork chops. The ship’s ventilation system handled the smoke from the torches. There was also a large fireplace where the bleachers had once been. A blaze roared in it, and the ship’s mascot, the dog Cerberus, lay dreaming canine dreams before the crackling black logs. Arabian tapestries hung on the walls, as did some banners including a genuine crusader flag. The mahogany wet bar, vintage 1950's Manhattan, carried in its mirrored recesses every drink from Anise to Zinfandel.
“Let me tell you,” the Captain yelled. The assembled officers held their collective breath. "I have surveyed this ship with my own eyes, and my assistant has surveyed the planet with rocket probes. In fact, Blue Star Station has had its eyes on this place for a while now. Needless to say, I am outraged." He produced a scrap of paper. "Just some preliminary notes, ladies and gentlemen. Section 8, Para 6, Line 8: Eighty-six violations: iron, steel, or plastic implements detected among Stone Age cultures. Section 10, Para 3, Line 3: Eight violations: diving tanks lost or discarded founded floating on inland seas populated by Bronze Age canoeists, seven; Beer cans, same, one. Section 11, Para 5, Line 7: one violation worth twenty years at hard labor, demotion to Stoker E-1, and forfeiture of all Social Security Benefits: lost swords, atomic, of non-native manufacture, in bronze age civilizations, one.” He glared long and hard at Mars, who swallowed and felt a pit of fear in his stomach. “Why go on?” He balled up the paper and stuck it in his pocket. "Lists like this will be made and will go on and on and on. I anticipate some serious court martials.”
“But sir,” Neptune said, “we are technically all civilians. According to the rules, you can’t apply military justice here!”
“Silence!” the Inspector screamed, and he waved his right arm up and down as his voice grew shrill. “Silence! I can do anything I want! And I will do anything I want! Because I am the Captain here! A penal colony! That is where you all belong! You are a bunch of lepers!”
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