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A tactical overview of theIroquois , neighboring vessels, andCradle popped onto Keyes’ personaldisplay screen. “As you can see,” Lieutenant Dominique continued, “wedid clear the station, but they aremoving on the same outbound vector we are. Admiral Stanforth wants them with the fleet.”
Captain Keyes took his place in his command chair—“the hot seat,” as it was more colloquially known—and reviewed the data. He nodded with satisfaction. “Looks like the Admiral has something up hissleeve.” He turned to Lieutenant Hall. “Engine status, Lieutenant?”
“Engines hot at fifty percent,” she reported. She straightened to her full height, nearly six feet, andlooked Captain Keyes in the eye with something edging near defensiveness. “Sir, the engines took a realbeating in our last engagement. The repairs we’ve made are . . . well, the best we could do without acomplete refit.”
“Understood, Lieutenant,” Keyes replied calmly. In truth, Keyes was concerned about the engines, too—but it would do no good to make Hall more uneasy than necessary. The last thing he needed now was toundermine her confidence.
“Gunnery officer?” Captain Keyes turned to Lieutenant Hikowa. The petite woman bore moreresemblance to a porcelain doll than to a combat officer, but Keyes knew her delicate appearance wasonly skin deep. She had ice water for blood and nerves of steel.
“MAC guns charging,” Lieutenant Hikowa reported. “Sixty-five percent and climbing at two percent perminute.”
Everything on theIroquois had slowed down to a crawl. Engine, weapons—even the unwieldyCradlekept pace with them.
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Captain Keyes sat up straighter. There was no time to spend on self-recriminations. He would have to dothe best he could with what he had. There simply was no other alternative.
The lift doors popped open and a young man stepped on deck. He was tall and thin. His dark hair—longer than regulations permitted—had been slicked back. He was disarmingly handsome; Keyesnoticed the female bridge crew pause to look the newcomer over before returning to their tasks. “EnsignLovell reporting for duty, Captain.” He snapped a sharp salute.
“Welcome aboard, Ensign Lovell.” Captain Keyes returned his salute, surprised that the unkempt officercould demonstrate such crisp adherence to military protocol. “Man the navigation console, please.”
The bridge officers scrutinized the Ensign. It was highly unusual for such a low-ranking officer to pilot acapital ship. “Sir?” Lovell wrinkled his forehead, confused. “Has there been some mistake, sir?”
“Youare Ensign Michael Lovell? Recently posted on theArchimedes Remote Sensor Outpost?”
“Yes, sir. They pulled me off that duty so quick that I—”
“Then man your station, Ensign.”
“Yes, sir!”
Ensign Lovell sat at the navigation console, took a few seconds to acquaint himself with the controls—then reconfigured them more to his liking.
A slight smile tugged at the corner of Keyes’ mouth. He knew that Lovell had more combat experiencethan any Lieutenant on the bridge, and was pleased that the Ensign adapted so quickly to unfamiliarsurroundings.