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First BattleLt. Karen Rhodes, M.D. bit back a sigh of boredom. She had a feeling the rest of the bridge crew wouldn't appreciate the watch officer demonstrating anything less than a stiff upper lip. Unfortunately, Karen's first watch on the bridge of the Exo-frigate Normandy was proceeding without any incident whatsoever. She shifted in her seat, glancing at her chronometer. Only two hours until Lt. Barrett relieved her. The wait seemed interminable.
It was just her luck to get posted to the one frigate in the Fleet whose captain believed in all officers getting command experience. Everybody with the rank of lieutenant and higher took their shift as watch officer on the bridge. Karen would have been much happier back in her sick bay, surrounded by the soothing smells of antiseptic and the cool air of the surgical suite. In sick bay she wasn't expected to acknowledge every minute course correction, or sign off and process transmissions from Earth that probably meant more to the ensign at Comm than to her.
"Transmission received from the Resolute, Ma'am," the ensign saluted her smartly. She saluted back. If he doesn't unbend just a little over the next two hours, she thought to herself, I'm going to have to go searching for that rod up his rectum. It seemed as though the main requirement for bridge personnel was a lack of personality. She stifled another sigh and scanned the transmission.
"Change course heading to three-one-five mark two-one-two," she ordered, reading the coordinates off the transmission. "It looks like Command thinks the pirates are hiding out in the asteroid belt." The ensign shot her a look that she imagined was a reprimand for editorializing. He couldn't have been more than eighteen.
Karen occupied herself by mentally reviewing the anatomy of the Neosapien cardiovascular system, and when that grew tiresome she began musing on the design of the jumpsuits of the bridge crew. She had yet to get used to the profusion of bright colors and sculpted hairstyles that seemed to be these people's only means of self-expression. Karen herself favored a more muted look, choosing a yellow and blue jumpsuit. She also eschewed the current fashion of shaving designs on her head, satisfied with keeping her curly brown hair chin-length and tidy.
Her glance dropped to the medical glove encasing her left hand and forearm. I may not be Exofleet in my heart of hearts, Karen thought, but I will always be grateful for this. The glove had become almost a second skin for her. She ran her hand idly over her thigh, feeling the heightened sensations in her fingertips as the sensor pads scanned her leg.
Visual data appeared on the small screen, giving her vital signs and scan readouts. The fine lasers and micro-tools remained quiescent, awaiting activation via microfilaments that brought electrical impulses down her sleeve from the neural interface. The cyberjack at the base of her skull had been surgically implanted when she underwent officer training and represented the main reason why she hadn't quit after the first week of boot camp.
"Lieutenant Rhodes," the hail jolted her from her thoughts. "Unidentified contact bearing one-five-eight."
She felt a frission of adrenaline skitter along her nerves. "Report," she ordered. "Let's get an ID. We don't want to be chasing off after some miner that's gone astray."
The young woman hunched over her console, fingers flying as she ran the specs and resonance against all known registered vessels.
"It's not one of ours, Lieutenant," she concluded. "Could be a pirate vessel."
"Lieutenant, another transmission coming in from the Resolute," the ensign handed her the transmission.
"Captain Marcus has ordered the Fleet to pursue," Karen informed them. Her heart pounded and she hoped nobody else noticed her discretely rub her hands on her thighs to dry them. "Set heading to follow."
"Shall I inform the captain?" the ensign asked. Karen thought furiously. The Normandy was on the far side of the Fleet from the contact, and the chances of it actually being a pirate vessel were slim. Far more likely it was a miner illegally harvesting ore from the asteroid belt. She didn't think the captain would be pleased to be disturbed if this turned out to be a wild goose chase. Her father had never had much patience for officers who didn't think for themselves.
"No, not yet," she decided. The ensigns exchanged swift glances before getting back to the task at hand. She felt a moment's indecision before resolving not to second-guess herself.
"The vessel is headed into the asteroid belt, Lieutenant Rhodes."
Karen felt a stab of uncertainty. The belt would greatly hamper the Fleet's maneuverability, making it more difficult to evade attack and to bring the massive weapons batteries to bear on the enemy. Merely a frigate, the Normandy was small enough to maintain some advantage, but the huge Exo-carriers would be at a disadvantage. On the other hand, they were dealing with just one small vessel.
"The Resolute?" she asked.
"Entering the asteroid belt."
"Follow," she ordered. "Yellow alert. And somebody get me the captain."
She felt the tension on the bridge increase as they slid into the belt along with the rest of the Exo-fleet. The thought passed through her mind that it might have been wise for somebody to leave some ships at the perimeter of the field just in case, but suddenly she had more pressing concerns.
"Lieutenant, three asteroids headed on a collision course!"
"Evasive maneuvers," she snapped, and sincerely hoped that the crewman at the helm was a good pilot. The last thing Karen wanted was to present the captain with a hull breech.
"Aye, Lieutenant," came the reply.
She didn't feel the ship's movement, but could imagine the starboard thrusters firing to move them out of the path of the oncoming threats.
"Lieutenant!" Karen's stomach clenched in dread at the fear and disbelief in the ensign's voice. "The asteroids have changed heading. They're still on a collision course!"
That was ridiculous. Asteroids were controlled by the laws of physics, and certainly did not change course to collide with an Exo-frigate.
"Bring main batteries on-line. Target the asteroids and fire at will."
Voices chittered excitedly in the background as the gunners called up for coordinates and began to target the incoming asteroids. Karen felt the reverberation of the main guns as they fired in sequence.
"Targets destroyed, Lieutenant."
Karen breathed a sigh of relief, not caring who saw her slump back in the command chair.
"Lieutenant! More asteroids incoming!"
"Target and fire!" she shot back.
Proximity alerts began to wail as several of the rocky missiles slipped through the gunfire. Multiple thuds rocked the ship and indicators showed several scanner arrays damaged but no hull breach. Klaxon began to wail and damage reports flooded in from all over the ship. Karen dampened out the sounds, focusing on helping the gunners locate and target further threats.
The hatch to the bridge whooshed open and Captain Henry strode in, fastening the closures of his jumpsuit as he stalked to the command chair. His light brown hair stood in tufts around his head, but somehow Karen did not find his dishabille amusing.
"What the bloody hell have you done with my ship?" he demanded. "Where are we?" His angry gaze pinned Karen like an insect before she jumped to her feet. She was aware that the tall dark presence of the First Officer, Commander Xanatos, had joined the bridge crew. Karen swallowed hard.
"Sir!" she saluted. "We came across an unidentified contact, possibly a pirate vessel. The Fleet was ordered to pursue and we have followed the ship into the asteroid belt. We have been attacked by several asteroids that somehow change course when we attempt to evade, and we have sustained minor damage to the hull."
"It's an ambush," he said angrily, "and you took my ship right into it!"
"Captain," the ensign called out, "pirate ships decloaking all around us!"
"Evasive maneuvers," Henry ordered. "All guns fire at will."
Xanatos spared her a brief glance. "You're relieved," he told her, "Get to sick bay."
Karen actually managed a couple of steps toward the hatch before the pirates' first volley hit the Normandy, throwing her back across the bridge. She hit the Comm console, crying out in pain as her shoulder protested the abuse. She rolled onto her back to get her bearings just as the next volley hit. The console behind her overloaded and blew, spewing sparks and debris as Karen threw her arms over her head to protect herself.
"Orders from the Resolute, Captain," she heard. "Target the pirate vessels using main guns only. Do not launch E-frames."
"That's suicide!" Henry retorted. "Get Captain Marcus on the horn and get those E-frames ready to fly."
"All hands, battle stations," she heard the First Officer order over the ship-wide comm.
Karen opened her eyes and saw the young ensign from Comm lying next to her, unconscious. She dragged herself to her feet and looked around. Everybody was gamely hanging onto their stations despite the frequent thundering and explosions. Electrical fires had broken out across the bridge and the smoke stung her eyes. She felt heat at her back, and turned to see the ruins of the Comm, still sparking and hissing angrily. The ensign's legs were trapped beneath, and his fire-retardant jumpsuit was beginning to smoke.
Karen grabbed his limp body around the chest and struggled to pull him from beneath the twisted remains of the smoldering console. The sharp tang of ozone filled the air. The floor shuddered again beneath her, and she ruthlessly squelched the almost overwhelming urge to flee. Where would she run? If the frigate blew, it wouldn't matter if she were on the bridge or cowering beneath her bunk. Besides, doing her job might help keep her mind off of just how little metal there was between her and the vacuum of space.
"Come on, buddy," she grunted, "did you really need that last helping at breakfast this morning?" The crewman's unconscious face bobbed beneath her as she shifted her grip. Blood continued to trickle down his forehead from an ugly laceration above his eyebrow, matting in his hair. "I hope we still have a working dermal stimulator, or your pretty face is going to look a lot different the next time you see a mirror," she warned him. She shunted aside thoughts of intracranial swelling, internal hemorrhage, and the fact that his jumpsuit was now burning. Her muscles screamed in protest as she continued to try and pull his deadweight out from under the red hot metal trapping his lower extremities. "Come on!" she cried out.
Suddenly she felt a lurch in her stomach and the world turned upside down. She grasped the unconscious crewman under his arms, hugging him close. The bridge swirled around her as she felt her feet leave the floor. I'm dying, she thought, holding her inert burden more closely. So this is what it's like. She saw the demolished console lift up magically from his legs as she struggled to put her feet on the ground. Each time her toes touched, she seemed to drift further from the floor, carrying the young man with her.
"Gravity control has been hit, Captain," she heard somebody cry out.
"Oh, really?" came the captain's disgusted reply. "I hadn't noticed, ensign. Everybody keep to your posts!"
Oh God, Karen thought. I'm not dying. This is much, much worse. As if on cue, her stomach rebelled and she swallowed convulsively attempting to keep everything down where it was supposed to be. She watched the floor drift further and further away, realizing that she was going to helplessly float across the bridge and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. She felt her face go ashen as sweat broke out across her brow. The body in her arms groaned and stirred, the movement causing them to begin rotating slowly along their trajectory. I hate space!
"Shhhh," she admonished, "you've been hurt." She secured his arms against his sides and turned him toward her. It took a moment not to allow herself to vomit in his face. She checked beneath his eyelids, noting the unequal pupils and disconjugate gaze, then ran her medical glove across his head, scanning for fractures or bleeding. His eyes fluttered open but remained unfocused. He groaned again and twisted in her arms, struggling weakly in pain.
"My legs," he moaned, "my head…" his voice drifted away as she injected him with an analgesic. She kept close watch on his vital signs as she scanned his cervical spine for fractures. Anything to keep her mind off her heaving stomach. Explosions continued to echo around them masking the voices calling out orders and delivering litanies of damages and injuries. The hiss and static of the e-frame comm traffic spread the sounds of battle throughout the bridge.
She used the small laser in her glove to cauterize the ensign's head wound, concentrating on her work and not her mutinous stomach. The smell of burnt flesh made her nostrils twitch and turned her stomach, made worse by the sensation that the bridge was spinning around her. I hate space.
"Gravity control ready to come back on-line, sir," came the blessed call. Karen felt like cheering, but kept it under her breath.
"All hands, secure stations. Prepare for artificial gravity." Everybody grabbed on to something, holding themselves close to the floor, still carrying on the business of battle.
"Belay that, " the captain snapped. "Lieutenant, just what the hell do you think you're doing up there?"
Suddenly she noticed the captain's acerbic gaze planted firmly on her, spinning lazily with her patient across the expanse of the bridge. A blush seared her cheeks, and she gripped her insensible burden more firmly. The bridge shuddered around them but she felt no movement. The conflicting signals from eyes and inner ear made another wave of nausea crash over her.
"Nothing. Sir," she added belatedly. She struggled weakly in a vain attempt to move someplace, anyplace else but from the spotlight of his baleful glare, trying desperately not to embarrass herself by vomiting in front of everybody. "I was just trying to get him out from under a console, and then…"
"Never mind," he said in disgust. "Commander Xanatos, please secure the good doctor and her patient, if you would?"
"Certainly, Captain," the First Officer said, and launched himself neatly from the bulkhead toward her. She felt a stab of jealousy at the ease with which he navigated in micro-g. Then she felt a hand on her collar, and she felt air brushing past her body as she was pulled along. She closed her eyes, concentrating on holding on to the unconscious crewman as the world spun crazily around her.
A voice in her ear muttered, "Don't you dare puke on me." She opened her eyes long enough to see the warning in his face just before she felt the contents of her stomach reach her throat. She watched in helpless horror as the ugly wet blob collided with the commander's chest, instantly soaking into his jumpsuit. He swore softly and his grip tightened painfully on her neck.
"I hate space," she informed him weakly.
He said nothing, but pressed her down against the bulkhead and nodded curtly to the captain, "All secure, sir."
Karen collapsed against the floor as blessed gravity returned to her body, weighing down her limbs and dampening the curdling sensation in her belly. The ensign sagged limply against her and she eased him onto his back, scanning him quickly. She noted with relief that the head wound had not reopened and she thought the burns on his legs might not be too bad. As for the concussion, well…
"Are you quite through, Lieutenant?" Captain Henry asked. The world snapped back into focus and she heard the sounds of voices calling out coordinates and coordinating attacks in the background. She nodded mutely, unable to look either the captain or Commander Xanatos in the eye. With relief she saw a couple of medics rush into the room with a litter.
"Then please remove yourself from my bridge," he commanded, turning his attention back to the fight. She hurried to obey, helping the medics load the unconscious man. She paused for a moment, wondering if she should apologize and risk angering him further, when his gaze returned to her one last time. "And Lieutenant? When this is through, please report to my office."
She felt a sinking feeling in her stomach that had nothing to do with gravity. One week on this ship and I'm already getting sent back home, she thought as she followed the stretcher down the smoky corridor. Periodic reverberations made the footing unsteady, but she rather thought she could handle that, just as long as they kept gravity. What will Papa say? Oh well, I always knew I wasn't cut out for the military, anyway. She imagined the look on her father's face when she returned and wished suddenly to be anywhere else but on the decks of the Normandy, where her own inadequacies had so glaringly been exposed. I hate space.
They burst into sick bay and the cool familiar smells briefly soothed her still rioting stomach. One of the nurses looked up at her entrance. "Thank God you're here," he said. "Dr. Laurence was in the hanger when it was hit, and Dr. Vela is already in surgery. We've got four unstable and about eight other serious injuries here." Choked cries of pain were audible, but for the most part the inhabitants of the ward were stoic in their silence. She noted various burns, open fractures, and lacerations, as well as four ominously limp bodies that seemed to be the focus of the staff's attention. Karen felt icy calm descend. At least I'm good at something, she thought, mentally rolling up her sleeves and wading in.
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"Can you feel that?" Karen asked, bending over the outstretched leg and prodding along the edges of a particularly ugly laceration. Captain Tom Jose grunted noncommittally and watched with a critical eye. Karen sighed. Jumptroopers. "You know, I can't tell if the block is working if you insist on being macho." Another noncommittal grunt. Is that why they're called grunts? she wondered.
She bent her head and approximated the edges of the lac while using her glove to adhere the borders together at a cellular level. Over time the wound would be reinforced with collagen and eventually scar, but the cellular adhesion process was proving to be stronger than conventional suturing in the short term. She worked quickly, not knowing when the next wave of patients was going to role in, and wanting to clear some of the minor injuries out of sick bay before they did.
"So how'd this happen?" she asked. His dark face flushed a dull red.
"We were trying to help clear space in one of the cargo bays so the e-frames could land after the launch bay blew," he told her. His shoulder-length brown hair was matted with sweat and soot smudged his face. "One of the damaged 'frames hit some stacked food crates and they burst." His jaw clenched and he clammed up.
"Shrapnel?" she guessed.
"Dehydrated K-ration," he bit out.
Karen choked back a snicker and ducked her head to hide her grin. She was fairly certain he saw it anyway. She cleared her throat as he scowled at her.
"Help me, please," a voice came from the doorway. Karen glanced up and did a double take.
A young e-frame pilot limped into sick bay, carrying a badly burned body. Shock filled his hazel eyes and he didn't appear to notice that he was dripping blood all over the deck.
"Clear a bed," she called, "We got an incoming." She shot the dark-haired jumptroop captain an apologetic look then hustled to help move a crewman with a fractured wrist from one of her precious beds. "Just put him down here." The pilot carefully laid his injured comrade on the bed.
Karen was running her glove over the man's body even as they finished settling his legs. His face was unrecognizable, the bones crushed and the skin peeling back. "What happened?" she asked. She frowned over the readings from her scan. "James, let's get two bags running wide open right now with some HemeEquate. And somebody get me a trach kit."
She looked up at the pilot, who remained standing by the bed cradling his bleeding arm. "What happened?" she repeated. His gaze met hers and she had to steel herself from feeling sympathy. Sympathy could come later.
"His e-frame was hit, but he made it back to the cargo bay. There was a fire inside. He was screaming and we pulled him out." His eyes were haunted. Karen figured he'd be hearing those screams every night for a long, long time.
"Fluids are coming and here's the kit," James told her. She quickly cut a small hole in the man's cricothyroid cartilage, cauterizing as she went to control the bleeding. She cursed softly as the edges of the hole she created crumpled when she dissected through to his trachea. Blood and air frothed up as she cut the tracheal wall. Finally her finger was through, the micro-laser retracting in response to her mental command to cease.
She intubated the tracheostomy as James set up the small portable ventilator. The trooper didn't flinch at all, and Karen felt her heart sink. He had suffered third degree burns to most of his body and at least two compound fractures. The glove was telling her that he was bleeding internally as well.
"Please help him," the pilot asked. Karen didn't reply, not wanting to make a promise she couldn't keep. "James, please get a compression bandage for this young man," she asked as they rolled the trooper to the operating suite. "And I'll get back to you just as soon as I can, Captain."
She paused in the doorway.
"What's his name?" she asked.
"David Wells," came the raspy reply. "Please help him."
"And what's yours?" she asked. He swayed a moment. Blood ran down his left arm and dripped from his fingertips. Karen could see the burns on his hands and face. He stood unevenly, favoring his right leg. A shock of light brown hair fell into his eyes as he shook his head to clear it. His face was pale.
"Elan. Lt. Elan Morin Tedronai…" His eyes rolled back as he sank quietly and gracefully to the floor.
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"Elan," Karen called softly. "Elan, wake up." She touched his shoulder lightly.
His eyes snapped open and she felt his sudden, still alertness in the muscles beneath her fingers. She gave him a moment to realize where he was, not wanting to test his battle-heightened reflexes.
"It's okay, Elan. You're in sick bay," she said. "I'm Dr. Karen Rhodes. You had me worried a moment or two there, but you're okay now."
"Where's David?" he asked, struggling to sit up.
"I'm sorry. He didn't make it," Karen pushed gently on his shoulder, easing him back to the bed. "His wounds were too serious." Elan closed his eyes a moment and his fists clenched unconsciously. She could feel pain emanating from him in waves. Pain that had nothing to do with his bandaged arm or broken leg.
Pushing Karen's hand away, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He sucked in his breath at the stab of pain from his right thigh. Karen placed her hand against his upper arm and injected him with an analgesic.
"Careful there," she warned. "I've done what I can to stabilize the break in your femur, but it's still not going to be strong enough to jump around on." He didn't seem to hear her.
"Damn them anyway," Elan growled, his hazel eyes narrowing in anger. "Taking us into the middle of that asteroid field. Any child could see it was a trap."
He fell silent then, staring silently at the floor. Karen glanced up at his pensive face, and knew he was thinking of the burnt and broken body he had carried into sick bay. Too many dead today, too many useless words of sympathy for those who remained behind. Too many mistakes. She aimed the thought at herself like a blade.
She had heard the litany a dozen times from as many injured men and women since returning to sickbay from the bridge. Each time she flushed, cognizant of her own role and wondering how long it would be before scuttlebutt informed the rest of the crew. She was unable to look him in the eye.
Karen busied herself checking his bandages for any sign of bleeding, waiting for the moment to pass. Finally he eased out a sigh and relaxed back in bed. Karen stood and pulled a light sheet over him.
"I'd feel better if you stayed here a few hours, where I can keep an eye on you," she said. It's the least I can do. He nodded silently, then looked at her.
"I'm sorry about Trooper Wells," she said. More sorry than you can know.
"Thank you," he said simply.
She left him to his thoughts and went to check on her other patients. The ensign from the bridge was lying quietly, sedated by the analgesics for his burns. She swiftly scanned his head and saw no further increase in the intracranial pressure.
Movement from the other side of the room startled her. "Captain Jose!"
He smiled slightly. Karen glanced at her chronometer. It had been hours since Elan had stumbled into sick bay, interrupting her. "I'm sorry," she said.
"Don't sweat it," he grunted, then grinned. "But I think I'm done being macho. Got anymore of that pain killer?"
Karen smiled and gave him a hefty dose. He sighed and the lines of tension bracketing his mouth eased. "Thanks, Doc."
"Did you hear the news?" he asked as she propped his leg back up on the bed. "Captain Marcus has declared it, and I quote, 'A glorious victory'." He snorted. "Yeah, right. We were lucky. Simbacca probably ran out of booze and decided to go home where he could finish us off in comfort."
Karen glanced up and saw him look at Elan, then glance down at his own leg. His mouth tightened. "Maybe next time we'll get a piece of the action, too." He noticed her gaze and grinned wryly. "Not much use for jumptroops in the middle of a dogfight. And we don't do too well hanging around with our thumbs up our butts while somebody else gets to kick ass." Karen understood what he was really saying. The jumptroops weren't known for hiding safely behind the skirts of others.
"Well, next time I see you, it had better not be because of another food fight," she told him, and got back to work.
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Karen sighed, straightened her jumpsuit, and knocked on the door to the Captain's ready room. For a moment she wished she were still back in sick bay, patching up the last of the injured after the battle with the pirates. Unfortunately for her, Rafael had sick bay well under control.
"Come," his voice called. The hatch hissed open. Karen swallowed hard and stepped through.
"Lt. Karen Rhodes, reporting as ordered," she saluted.
"Dr. Rhodes," Captain Henry acknowledged. He sat behind a heavy antique desk, made of real wood. A shelf held at least twenty hardback books - a luxury for weight allowance on the ship. His calm face betrayed none of his thoughts as he leaned back in his chair. His gold command uniform stretched taut across shoulders and outlined smoothly muscled arms where they lay folded across his chest. He regarded her silently a moment.
"At ease," he said, indicating a chair across his desk. Karen hesitated only a moment before easing slowly into the chair. She had an unsettling feeling of deja vu and was a child again, sitting across her father's huge desk awaiting the latest reprimand.
"Why are you here?" The question startled her out of her thoughts.
"You ordered me to report when the battle was over, sir," she reminded him.
"No, not that," Henry waved it away impatiently. "Why are you here, on my ship? In Exo-Fleet?"
"Sir?" she asked.
"Lieutenant," he said. "I'll be perfectly frank with you. Your father contacted me before you boarded back on Earth. He hopes that I will make a good officer out of you." Her heart sank. Her father had contacted her captain? How humiliating. But how typical of him. She felt sudden resentment.
"I'm sorry, Captain," she said, her face tightening.
"I respect the Admiral, Lieutenant," Henry went on. "I served under him on the Coronado, just before his transfer back to the homeworlds." Karen nodded and her mouth twisted slightly. She was very familiar with her father's popularity and the near adoration with which some former comrades regarded him. Sometimes it was difficult being the daughter of a living legend.
"However," he continued, "This is my ship." Karen stilled, and watched his face carefully. This was deviating from her prior experiences with this particular conversation.
"I don't need any officers on my ship who don't want to be here." He said it baldly, throwing the statement out there between them.
"Captain?" she asked, startled.
"Lieutenant," he went on, "I've reviewed your file. You quit a rather lackluster career at the Exofleet prep school to attend a civilian medical school. You did quite well there, graduating with honors, and then went on to do your training in Med/Surg. Then, inexplicably, you gave up what would have been a potentially very lucrative career and joined ExoFleet instead. Your OTS instructors were complimentary of your character, but expressed several reservations about your career in the Fleet." He leaned forward and looked at her closely.
"They seemed to think that you didn't really want to be here."
Karen said nothing, her mind racing. What could she say to that?
Captain Henry sighed, "Dr. Rhodes, from what I have seen you are a good surgeon and have the potential to be a good officer."
"Thank you, Captain," Karen nodded slightly, unsure of the compliment. The captain held up a hand.
"But if you're doing this to prove something to your father, then you are doing it for the wrong reasons." Karen flushed, and opened her mouth to protest. Captain Henry just looked at her with steady eyes. She closed her mouth. Somehow she didn't think he would buy her denials.
He nodded. "There are many reasons why people join. Some want to see the solar system. Some need something to do until they decide what to do with their lives. Some need to get away for a while. Some even want a life-time career in the Fleet." Long blonde hair and earnest green eyes came to Karen's mind. "But the common thread is that they all want to be here.
"I don't think you do, and that makes you a danger to this ship and its crew." Once again the silencing hand. He looked at her intently, his gaze a laser cutting deep to find the core of her soul. "I don't need perfect officers. Everybody makes mistakes. However, I do need officers who are one-hundred and ten percent HERE. If you can't give me that, then you should reconsider your career on this ship when we get back to Earth."
He held her pinned with his eyes for a moment before releasing her and leaning back in his chair again. Karen took in a shaky breath.
"Captain, I..." her voice trailed off. "I don't know what to say to that."
"Good," he said. "Then there's hope for you yet." He glanced at the chronometer on the bulkhead. "I have the inside scoop that it's Cookie's seafood linguini tonight. Better go now before the rest of the crew gets word."
Karen stood, tugging uncertainly at her uniform.
"One more thing, Lieutenant," he added, already pulling out other paperwork. "I trust you learned from your mistake on the bridge."
"Yes, sir," she said, "It won't happen again."
"I admire your initiative, but I need to know when my ship is headed into a potentially dangerous situation." He looked up at her and nodded. "Dismissed."
"Aye, Captain," she said, snapping a salute. As soon as the hatch hissed shut behind her, she sagged against the bulkhead, feeling weak in the knees. Gradually, her heart stopped pounding and the sick feeling left her stomach. She laughed shakily under her breath. She almost felt like she was recovering from micro-gravity. She pushed herself up from the bulkhead and headed for the mess hall.
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