that going on around here.
Melissa promised to keep me in the loop.”
Trent put a playful hand on Shawn’s shoulder and stared longingly into
his eyes. “Do you trust her?”
Shawn smirked at the bait Trent was offering. “Not on your life. But,
at the moment, she’s the only friend we have around here. We’ll play along for
now, both with her and with Krif.”
Trent nodded. “Fine. I don’t like it, though.”
“What else is new? How’s your stomach, by the way?”
Trent rubbed his hands thoughtfully over his belly. “I’m a little
gassy, but I think I’m getting used to this whole space travel thing.”
“Just don’t get too used to it. I’m hoping we won’t be here
very long.”
“Do you have a good lead on where Admiral Graves is?”
“Not me, but someone on board does. If I had to put money on it, I’d
say it was Krif. I’ve got some paperwork to go over, and I’ve got a briefing in
thirty minutes. I’ll put my maintenance officer in contact with you and she’ll
show you around. We’ll get together later and I’ll fill you in on what I come
up with.”
Trent gave him a look of shock. “Paperwork and a briefing? You sound
so… official . It’s kind of attractive, in an extremely boring and tedious
sort of way.”
Shawn looked at him with disapproval. “Don’t you have something to do,
Sergeant?”
Trent shrugged. “Well, I suppose I could—”
“Good. Then get to it,” Shawn snapped as he walked past his mechanic
and out into the corridor.
* * *
Five minutes late, due to his impromptu run-in with Trent, Shawn
entered the officers’ wardroom and was greeted by the entire assembly standing
at attention. This is going to take some time to get used to, he thought
as he looked to the mostly unfamiliar faces. “Please, be seated.”
At the far end of the table, Roslyn Brunel remained standing. “Let me
introduce you to the rest of the team, sir.”
First up was the blonde-haired Ensign McAllister, sitting unusually
still and looking quite passive as she locked eyes with Shawn. Shawn hoped that
he hadn’t embarrassed the young woman earlier that morning, and decided that a
sidebar meeting might be in order after their meal was complete. To her right
was Lieutenant Junior-Grade Stephen ‘Satellite’ Maltos, the squadron’s
administrative officer. To his right was Jerry ‘Nova’ Santorum, maintenance
officer. To Brunel’s right was Lieutenant Drok ‘Drake’ I’rondus, introduced as
the squadron’s tactical officer, and to his right was Lieutenant Brian ‘The
Brain’ Jefferies, squadron’s scientific and astrometrics officer. Next to The
Brain, and seated on Shawn’s left, was the training officer, Lieutenant
Junior-Grade Walter ‘Weasel’ Gunderson.
After the introductions were made, everyone finished eating in
relative silence. It was the most uncomfortable meal Shawn had ever partaken
in. The only sounds in the compartment were occasional grunts—which made it
hard to tell whether they were in delight or disgust over the flavor of the
food. When each pilot had his or her fill, it was time to officially start the
day.
“Ensign McAllister,” Shawn finally said to break the silence. “There’s
going to be a new maintenance technician checking in to the squadron today. I’d
like you to show him the ropes.”
Her violet eyes darted to Brunel. Clearly, she was giving a physical
manifestation to what everyone in the room was probably thinking: did Sector
Command really believe Kestrel was the best choice for commanding officer of
the squadron. Roslyn only nodded, and McAllister responded with an almost
chipper, ‘Yes, sir.’
“Sir,” Brunel then began. Shawn had no idea whether she was still
angry over the situation or not, but if she was, it didn’t come across in her
tone. “Our tour of inspection has been canceled; Lieutenant Santorum will
Melissa promised to keep me in the loop.”
Trent put a playful hand on Shawn’s shoulder and stared longingly into
his eyes. “Do you trust her?”
Shawn smirked at the bait Trent was offering. “Not on your life. But,
at the moment, she’s the only friend we have around here. We’ll play along for
now, both with her and with Krif.”
Trent nodded. “Fine. I don’t like it, though.”
“What else is new? How’s your stomach, by the way?”
Trent rubbed his hands thoughtfully over his belly. “I’m a little
gassy, but I think I’m getting used to this whole space travel thing.”
“Just don’t get too used to it. I’m hoping we won’t be here
very long.”
“Do you have a good lead on where Admiral Graves is?”
“Not me, but someone on board does. If I had to put money on it, I’d
say it was Krif. I’ve got some paperwork to go over, and I’ve got a briefing in
thirty minutes. I’ll put my maintenance officer in contact with you and she’ll
show you around. We’ll get together later and I’ll fill you in on what I come
up with.”
Trent gave him a look of shock. “Paperwork and a briefing? You sound
so… official . It’s kind of attractive, in an extremely boring and tedious
sort of way.”
Shawn looked at him with disapproval. “Don’t you have something to do,
Sergeant?”
Trent shrugged. “Well, I suppose I could—”
“Good. Then get to it,” Shawn snapped as he walked past his mechanic
and out into the corridor.
* * *
Five minutes late, due to his impromptu run-in with Trent, Shawn
entered the officers’ wardroom and was greeted by the entire assembly standing
at attention. This is going to take some time to get used to, he thought
as he looked to the mostly unfamiliar faces. “Please, be seated.”
At the far end of the table, Roslyn Brunel remained standing. “Let me
introduce you to the rest of the team, sir.”
First up was the blonde-haired Ensign McAllister, sitting unusually
still and looking quite passive as she locked eyes with Shawn. Shawn hoped that
he hadn’t embarrassed the young woman earlier that morning, and decided that a
sidebar meeting might be in order after their meal was complete. To her right
was Lieutenant Junior-Grade Stephen ‘Satellite’ Maltos, the squadron’s
administrative officer. To his right was Jerry ‘Nova’ Santorum, maintenance
officer. To Brunel’s right was Lieutenant Drok ‘Drake’ I’rondus, introduced as
the squadron’s tactical officer, and to his right was Lieutenant Brian ‘The
Brain’ Jefferies, squadron’s scientific and astrometrics officer. Next to The
Brain, and seated on Shawn’s left, was the training officer, Lieutenant
Junior-Grade Walter ‘Weasel’ Gunderson.
After the introductions were made, everyone finished eating in
relative silence. It was the most uncomfortable meal Shawn had ever partaken
in. The only sounds in the compartment were occasional grunts—which made it
hard to tell whether they were in delight or disgust over the flavor of the
food. When each pilot had his or her fill, it was time to officially start the
day.
“Ensign McAllister,” Shawn finally said to break the silence. “There’s
going to be a new maintenance technician checking in to the squadron today. I’d
like you to show him the ropes.”
Her violet eyes darted to Brunel. Clearly, she was giving a physical
manifestation to what everyone in the room was probably thinking: did Sector
Command really believe Kestrel was the best choice for commanding officer of
the squadron. Roslyn only nodded, and McAllister responded with an almost
chipper, ‘Yes, sir.’
“Sir,” Brunel then began. Shawn had no idea whether she was still
angry over the situation or not, but if she was, it didn’t come across in her
tone. “Our tour of inspection has been canceled; Lieutenant Santorum will
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