A New Day
Rebecca opened her eyes, looking at the overhead of her cabin. Irene was curled up on her chest, blissfully asleep. She reached up, hugging the cat to her, hearing her purr as she awakened with her human.
Her first thought was Thanks, Os. as she rolled, the cat now laying beside her. She wondered yet again what benificent god had given her such a treasure. He had been her steward (Then a 1st class) aboard HMS Jasmine after her tour aboard HMAMC Genjii all those years ago. For almost two T years she had swanned about protecting home fleet, feeling absolutely useless in the process.
Her temper; never far below the skin, had almost come out then, and she knew that if she fully released it, she would have destroyed whatever career she had in her majesty's service. Her father who shared that ravenous beast, had taught her to control it. Christ she'd learned seven dead languages and the Coup to control it! Yet there were times when that wasn't enough. There were times when her fury found something to focus on, as if she were a werewolf of legend needing to chase and rip human prey to shreds.
She had never learned what her father had used to ground those furies. But for her it was Oscelli. The first time her temper had begun to flare on Jasmine, she had found a dark chocolate brownie with ice cream smothered in hot fudge as her dessert at lunch. She had sneered at the attempt, then devoured it; the wolf merely taking a guick bite before savaging the woodsman. But that simple dessert had soothed the savage beast.
It was as if her ship had merely sailed through everything without problems for the rest of the day. There were problems that next morning; there always were. But it was as if the world had begun again. She had returned to being the cool commander rather than the homicidal bitch.
Like today. Rebecca slid her arms away from the purring bundle, and sat up. When Christian had staggered out of her cabin, Os had delivered his magical offering. his How he even recognized when it was about to happen was still a mystery to her, and she really hated to be managed by anyone. Yet time and again Oscelli had guaranteed she would not stomp on her crew, and this feeling made it worthwhile.
She showered, dressed, and walked out of her cabin into her office. She had just brought up her computer when Os appeared with a tray. "Breakfast first, ma'am." He admonished.
"You know I hate people managing me."
"I know that for a fact ma'am."
"I don't know how you put up with me, and I think that is why you get away with it."
"Probably." He set down the tray, lifting the lid over the plate he set in front of her. An absolutely beautiful omelet sat there flanked by four rashers of bacon, a slice of ham, and a mound of hash browns. Rating Chartaine asked me to let him know when you would wake up this morning, and stood by down in their galley to make this for you.
"I'll have to thank him. By the way, any word on how the crew reacted to my punishment caused by Sinclair?"
"Mister Sinclair, it seems, fell down a couple of ladders yesterday, ma'am. The crew took what had happened with good grace beyond that. The Bosun has reported that most of the crew is mainly avoiding the Republican 'guests' at the moment."
Rebecca picked up her fork, then glared at Irene who was crouched to leap on her breakfast. "Os, if you would..."
He lifted a smaller lid, sliding a miniature of her own omelet with a single slice of bacon across, distracting the cat. She nodded her thanks, then sliced into the eggs. It was heaven. "I am hoping you got his recipe."
"Consider it done." He poured coffee for her, then, like a genie, vanished. She set to the meal with a will, and was finally reduced to chasing a few errant hash browns. She rubbed the cat's head, and stood, going out to begin her day.
Saying Goodbye
Her first stop was sickbay. Most of the ones injured the previous day had been sent to quarters on light duty for the next couple of days. She walked past the sick berth attendants to stand beside the bed of her youngest injured. Stanhope looked forlorn, eyes begging. "Please, captain, don't put me off." He grabbed her hand. He was talking loudly, as a lot of people who had been suddenly deafened would.
"I have to, Josh." He looked at her blankly. She'd be damned if she was going to shout. The damage had been very bad in his case, since he had been barely three meters from that damn stunner when it went off. The delicate bones in his inner ear had been shocked out of alignment. "You'll be back good as new for your next ship."
"Excuse me, ma'am." She turned to see Midshipwoman Riyal. The girl handed her a message pad. "Since he can't hear us, we've been using this to write notes."
"We?"
"All of us, midshipmen, that is." She looked at him. "We took turns sitting with him through the night."
"Very well done by you all." She input her words, holding it so Stanhope could see. But instead of being cheered up, his eyes filled with tears.
"I don't regen, captain. I'll be sent home."
She pursed her lips, then typed again. "Sit with him for a few minutes longer, Jess." She didn't notice the sudden pleasure on Riyal's face. She turned, looking, then headed for the doctor's office.
Matsuhito Ramsey was a short squat almost balloon like man. He stood as she entered his office. "Stanhope doesn't regen. What are they going to do with him when he gets to Bassingford?"
"We still use Cochlear implants for those cases."
"How soon can he be back on active duty?"
"It depends on how he adjusts, actually." She motioned, and he resumed his seat, leaning back with his hands clasped across his stomach. "We don't have the equipment here to insert one, though we do have the equipment for adjusting them; we have two people, one marine and a Senior Chief aboard who had them inserted after combat injuries."
"How long does it take to heal from the operation?"
"With quick heal, about five days. But he might have to have it adjusted for as long as a month."
"But you can adjust it."
"Most of his problems will be with balance, ma'am. The inner ear controls your sense of balance. If the semicircular canals were damaged, we couldn't deal with that aboard ship. And I'm afraid we can't guarantee that they were not. That bastard Christian might as well have murdered the lad."
"I sent all of the facts of the incident down to the JAG office before he left my deck. Transporting an illegal weapon aboard ship, using said weapon on his own crew! Injuries to seventy five crewmen with four crippled! If he's lucky, all he will get is a demotion. If he isn't he'll see Chelmsford again as an inmate." She almost snarled. "That's what I hope for. Let him feel a stunner!"
"Feeling vindictive, captain? I would define that as cruel and unusual punishment."
She looked at him coolly. "My father always used to blow up at that phrase. He me once that people who use that phrase have a serious lack of imagination considering the 'legal' methods used as late as the 5th century pre diaspora. The old United States during it's final century was hamstrung by people who used that to try to remove the death penalty, no matter how quick and painless it was. While those same people were complaining about prison overcrowding, they were pushing life without parole as the only 'humane' option; not considering that it cost more than the average middle class family made in a year to keep one criminal in prison. Then they even decided that was cruel as well.
"Once Stanhope reaches Bassingford, have them inform me. If the semicircular canals are not badly injured and will accept quick heal, ask them to return him to the ship before we deploy if possible."
"Yes, ma'am."
She walked back out into the sickbay, returning to Stanhope's bed. She took the pad, and gave him that information. He looked up with hope in his eyes. "Thank you, Captain." She squeezed his shoulder, and left.
She stopped in shock at what she saw when she did. About a dozen people, split evenly between Republican and her own crew were heading toward sickbay in work out clothes. They looked like they had been in a brawl, and her fury rose. "Stand fast!" She snapped. They froze, looking at her in surprise. "What the hell did you do? By god if you've been brawling, I'll have your heads! Explain!"
"We weren't fighting, Captain." Ensign Le Clerc, the senior Republican protested. "Your mister Deere," he motioned to a Manticoran Senior chief assigned to the deck department, "was showing me your Axial one yesterday."
"And so you and your associates," she looked at the other five Republicans, all enlisted men from the contingent that was only being transported, "and my no doubt innocent crewmen decided to do what? Reenact the Battle of Manticore?" She asked in a mild voice dripping with vitriol.
"No ma'am. Your senior chief and I share a hobby, as do these others. We like to play null grav polo. Between us we set up a scratch game for today."
She blinked. "Null grav polo?" She knew the sport. A variant of water polo, usually played on space stations, since very few ships still had an area like Axial one, where gravity was virtually nonexistent. Originally used for transporting heavy cargoes, such as missiles, from place to place rapidly, the more modern warships had done away with it because of the structural weaknesses, though for balancing the cargo holds most merchant ships still did. "So you all..." She waved her hands. "were hurt playing a game?"
"Yes, ma'am." Le Clerc grinned. "Actually Mister Deere almost kicked himself in the teeth trying to make a save." The Chief returned the grin to his fellow crewmen, his split lip making him wince.
"All right." She clasped her hands behind her back, her fury suddenly turned to humor. "I think the next time you should at least wear some sort of protective gear. It stops captains from jumping to conclusions."
"Yes, ma'am." Deere said.
"Oh, by the way, ensign. Could you have your commander make a list of sports where you have enough for a competition? I don't want to have to put cameras all over Axial one to televise your play."
"I will do that immediately, Captain."
"Oh, no rush. Go get fixed up first." She watched them pass her with amusement. She walked back to the office, and tapped the annunciator. "Ask the Exec to come down, please." She went to her desk, bringing up her computer. The marine outside the hatch announced the Exec, and she came in. "Diedre, ask around and see what shipboard spectator sports have enough members for a competition. I think I've found a way to make peace between our different crews."
The rest of the day was hectic as the crew prepared to head out of the system. While the deployment didn't officially begin for another ten days, by moving past the hyper limit a light minute or so from Junction she could drill her crew until the other ships of her squadron arrived.
Disappointment
At 1600 Dollaryde finished his shift. He went down to supply, but the ingredients still had not arrived. Feeling glum, he went to the pub. Master Quartermaster Chief Sisko looked up as he arrived. "We're almost out of everything, Francis. When is the next batch going to be ready?"
Dollaryde told him what had happened, the destruction of his latest batches, having to scrub the vats out before he could start again, and the lack of ingredients. "I have started at least one batch, but that's going to be at least another two weeks. Sorry."
Sisko shrugged. "Shit happens. Don't sweat it." The young man nodded, and slouched out. Sisko kept at his preparations. While the 'pub' would be running from noon to midnight every day during the deployment, he been running the in system schedule that had it running from 1700 to midnight. While shorter in hours, the in system schedule was more grueling since in system the ship's crew worked what might have been considered a standard work day; 0800 to 1700, with anchor watch rotating through a four day cycle. That meant more thirsty people in a shorter time. Losing Dollaryde's production would put a serious bind in that service too.
"Now there goes a very unhappy man." He looked up as the Bosun came into the compartment. "Made good on the damage yet, chief?" She asked.
He grimaced. Every glass that had been in the bar itself had been shattered by the field stunner, in fact every glass in the small storage compartment nearby had been shattered as well as all the crockery in the small galley. Half of his people were on light duty, and having someone still suffering from vertigo trying to serve drinks was amusing, but down right insane. "I will before we deploy. I sent down a requisition to fabrication for it."
"What's Dollaryde's problem?"
"Someone dumped his last batches of brew and schnapps, including one that still had the mash in it. So we're out of schnapps by 1900, and out of beer before midnight tonight. He's also having trouble getting ingredients. The first load went to our cooks, and the new order hasn't arrived. So we're sucking fumes because he is."
"I'll see what I can do." Sharpe told him. Sisko smiled as she walked out. She did like her beer...
End Run
Kyle looked up as the Bosun came into the office. "Hello, Bosun, what can I do for you?" She picked up a pad.
"Do you remember what Dollaryde usually orders for the brewery?"
"I don't remember." Kyle admitted. "Give me a moment." He dived into the past invoices. "That's odd. I know he ordered twice in the last week. But there's no record of the last one." He went back further. "Barley, wheat, and before the ship left Rendova he ordered 300 kilos of peach must as well."
"Must what?"
Kyle laughed. "It's pureed peaches, used in making among other things, schnapps. That he didn't order this time."
"Well I happen to like his schnapps." She looked at the older order, then duplicated it. "Send this through for me."
"Mr. Cathcart will want to run it past the Captain first."
"Oh he will. Mr. Kyle, I know what the skipper is going to say or I wouldn't be filling it out. I would really appreciate you doing this for me. And letting me know when it arrives."
As a Midshipman, Kyle had seen a senior officer who ran athwart with the bosun. Though the man had been a commander and division head on a Superdreadnought, it was a nightmare for the officer, all because he berated the Bosun unfairly and publicly. That bosun, a man in his nineties had with no effort, created what is called a 'white' mutiny.
Mutiny, or course is rebellion against authority. But a white mutiny is the exact opposite; obedience to the point of absurdity. The kind of emotionless reaction you would expect from ill programmed robots, with as much volition. Every order obeyed exactly as stated, even if the wording were inexact, or failing to act because an order is not given, with consequences better imagined than endured. When volition is removed, every failure falls not on the crewmen but their officers. After all, an officer can't complain if you did what you were told, or didn't do something you were not told to do.
Within a week the man had been reduced to a screaming maniac, and within three had almost been relieved before the captain had told him to belt up and apologize.
Kyle did as he was told.
Drills, new assignments, and laying down the law
"Deploy." Rebecca Huggins ordered. The sleek LACs slid backwards from their docking bays, rolling to power away from the ship. The Shrikes moved out first, followed by the Ferrets and Katanas. 10 million kilometers behind Witch Maiden and the convoy, the pirate was closing with almost 300Gs of overtake. The LAC crewmen could hear the Exec trolling them in, pretending to be a dithering fool.
"Close to missile range." The squadron commander ordered.
The LACs brought up their wedges. Even at 500Gs they were invisible on even Manticoran sensors. Witch Maiden was running away from the convoy, drawing the pirate after them as she did.
"Begin your target plots." The commander ordered.
"Missile inbound!" Witch Maiden reported.
"Radar pulse from Shrike three!" command reported. At almost 300 million kilometers per second, the pulse went out. It was too far for LAC missiles, and pods rolled from Witch Maiden. Even as the pirate was recording the pulse, sixty missiles launched at him with full powered wedges at almost a thousand KPS.
The pirate rolled, spinning to race toward the hyper limit. Almost two dozen missiles shot out, aimed at the last of the light CLACs which was his closest target. The people watched as the missiles ripped out in both directions. The pirate blew up, but her revenge was sweet; seven of the twenty-one missiles ripped into the lightly skinned vessel. It exploded, vanishing from the plot.
The crews of the LACs watched as the simulation ended, Witch Maiden blithely sailing alone through space. "All hands to debriefing."
Huggins leaned into the podium as her crews entered their briefing room. Her crews came in. Everyone ignored Quintain as he took his seat. The squadron commander brought up the point where Quintain's Legate had brought up active rather than passive sensors. "Tell me, lieutenant, when did I order active tracking of the target?" She asked.
"You ordered us to plot the target-"
"I did." She stated coolly. "Allow me to rephrase; did I order active scans?"
He scowled, shaking his head. "They fired into Witch Maiden."
She brought up the missile launch, with a line for it's course, which was offset so that it would run down the ship's course a clear 20,000 kilometers away. "It was a warning shot, lieutenant."
"But it was close enough for a laser head."
"We have the best passive systems in space at the moment. Our LACs can track an enemy at over forty million kilometers and by using us as living recon drones, Witch Maiden can target them for missiles out to their maximum range. Yet you needed active scans for a missile that would have clearly missed us by 15,000 kilometers?" She turned, looking at the men and women before her. "We could have killed the missile well clear of us or Witch Maiden on command using passive sensors alone; a command that was not given. To bring up active scans suggests that you panicked."
"With all due respect-"
"Attention on deck!" Everyone snapped to attention as Captain Duvalier marched down between their comfortable chairs. She walked up to the podium, the squadron commander standing aside as she took the stage.
"As you were." She ordered, adjusting the mike. "I am not at all happy with this drill people. Losing a CLAC would cost us not only valuable lives, but fifty LACs as well. Ships we are going to need later. Ms Hughes was doing exactly what she should have done; trying to draw the pirate away from the others so you could crush him. If you had reached your missile range of the enemy he would have been forced to fire on us or you. The trailing CLAC would have been 14 million kilometers from the pirate, out of range. We have twice the point defense of the CLACs, and with you acting as an additional shield, we were well covered."
"But the missile was close enough for a laser warhead to hit the ship, ma'am."
"Of course it was. But pirates don't get paid for destroyed ships, only for captured ones. And while he had been demanding that we heave to, he wasn't going to destroy her without firing a warning shot." The captain said.
"But how would we know-"
"Mister Quintain, your actions are just what I would expect from someone who has no combat experience, or experience dealing with pirates. Ms Hughes did exactly what I would have done in her situation. Ms Huggins gave the orders I had anticipated she would. The only one who did not live up to my expectations, was you." She looked at him mildly.
"The drill was unfair, captain."
"Anyone who tells you life is fair is trying to sell you something. Before you dig yourself a deeper hole, I will tell you I created this scenario and administered it. That was one of three warning shots programmed into it, the last to have a standoff of only 5,000 kilometers. He was coming in dumb, that is given. But the model of the pirate's hull had sufficient small craft to take Witch Maiden, yet still had enough overtake to run down and capture both of our CLACs if they were actually merchantmen. I know this because a ship of that design made the same attempt in Silesia fifteen years ago when HMAMC Faery Lights drew him off a small convoy and captured him with just her LACs. Neither Hughes or Huggins knew any of it's parameters, so they as I said, reacted properly. You did not. That is what separates a combat veteran from an untried person.
"Go on with your debrief, Lieutenant Huggins." She strode down the aisle, the pilots snapping back to their feet. It had been a good day today, while there were still rough spots in her crew, the Exec and Bosun were working on polishing them smooth. Chief Campbell who had been Christian's assistant Master at Arms was still feeling his way, but at least he hadn't been a prison guard in his last posting.
"Captain?" She looked up as Midshipwoman Kramer snapped to a quivering attention. "You asked to see me?"
"Yes, Stace. Walk with me." The girl fell in beside her as the captain strolled along. "I'm facing a problem, and you might solve it for me. In your piloting standing, you come in behind Krueger, but you're from Sidemore and our one LAC without a commander is manned by your countrymen. Warrant Kelly won't be back aboard because it will take too long to regen the damage to his ear canals. In addition to your other duties, I want you to temporarily assume command of that Ferret for me."
"But... Ma'am you're supposed to be an ensign and go through flight school for that!"
"I know that, Stace. But you have one other qualification Chin does not."
"I do?"
"Your thesis in Basic Tactics. You came down pretty hard on CLAC captains on both sides during the war in it." The girl blushed prettily, and Rebecca felt she wanted to be there if young Kramer met Rating Chartaine. They could have a blush-off if anyone around knew about that tendency and how to trigger it. "You criticized the Commander of the Republic task force at the Raid on Zanzibar specifically."
"Well Captain, he did come in dumb. He launched his LACs for the raid, but instead of retreating with the CLACs outside the hyper limit, he followed them in. But there were more than enough of our own LACs to deal with the threat of the five hundred odd LACs deployed by the Republicans. The Manticoran Alliance representative Admiral Padgorny suggested a plan that used just the LACs to confront the greater threat.
"The Task Force commander's stupidity added to the High Ridge Government's treatment of our allies led to Admiral al Bakr overriding the on site Manticoran officer and using the system defense pods that had been planted in the outer asteroid belt to kill one CLAC and damage the second. A clear win, but the enemy used what they learned in that attack to come back at Second Zanzibar and blow the system picket and infrastructure to plasma."
"The benefit of hindsight, Middie."
"Yes and no, captain."
"Explain."
"My uncle Jack was one of the members of the design bureau that came up with our idea of what a CLAC should be like. He got me interested in Old Earth Naval history, and when I showed interest, got my place at Saganami Island for me. He pointed at Earth's Second World War, at least at the start.
"Aircraft carriers were new then, as CLACs are with us now, and too many of the original commanders of those ships then and now were not pilots themselves; they were cruiser and battleship officers. They thought of carriers as something that runs with the wall of battle instead of operating separate with only minimal escorts. He pointed out that only three carriers were sunk by surface action, and as he explained to me, one was caused by negligence of her captain, the other two were forced into their engagement.
"The first, the British HMS Glorious was running with only two destroyers when two Nazi German battlecruisers found them. But her captain, while a pilot, had ignored his air group commander, and not deployed scouting aircraft or staging ready aircraft on deck, allowing the Germans to approach within their gun range. Once in range both she and her escorts were easily sunk.
"The other two were part of a six light carrier task group code named Taffy 3 at the Battle off Samar in the Philippine Islands. An Imperial Japanese fleet led by four battleships were able to come into range undetected. The light carriers ran while their escorting destroyers and destroyer escorts charged the battle line. But the commander of the task group, Clifton Sprague called in all of the deployed aircraft from his own unit, and two other light carrier task groups nearby, and so confused the issue that the Japanese withdrew after sinking two of the small carriers and some of the escorts. In fact in after action reports, the Japanese Admiral believed he had confronted fleet carriers with light cruiser escorts."
"And what would you have done different?"
"I was just pointing out that of all the combatants in that war, the first to use carriers as rapid strike units with light escort was the United States. Their main fleet units, the battleships, had been seriously damaged or sunk at the battle of Pearl Harbor. To carry the fight to the enemy they had to create tactics using only carriers and light escorts. Every other carrier in that war, on either side, were sunk by either submarines or aircraft.
"I used the Zanzibar raid for a reason; if he had kept his CLACs safe, used just the LACs for the scouting element, he would not have lost either of the CLACs or all of his LACs."
"But he wouldn't have gotten all the information he did, either."
"That's a given." Stacey was talking as if they were just fellow cadets back on Saganami Island, not as captain to very junior officer. "But you can't expect both commanders to do something stupid every time, can you?"
Rebecca grinned at the deck, hoping the girl didn't notice. "No, you can't. So, will you accept this additional duty?"
"If you think I can handle it, yes, ma'am."
"Oh, I didn't say I thought you could handle it, middie. I just wanted an Sidemoran in charge of a Sidemore LAC." She stopped, the girl turning to face her. "You still have all of your other rotations to do. But when Lieutenant Huggins had a drill or instruction, you are to report to prifly."
"Yes, Ma'am!" Her salute was almost razor sharp.
"Dismissed, Stace."
Rebecca entered the bridge, walking toward her command chair. Hughes nodded to her as she stood from the command chair. "I just assigned Midshipman Kramer to temporary command of Kelly's Ferret." She shook her head, smiling fondly. "God, Diedre, were we ever that young?"
"Unless your name is the Goddess Athena, yes, skipper, we were that young once upon a time. The pinnace the Bosun sent to Sphinx as we passed the planet is inbound. ETA seven minutes."
"Time for me to put my scowl on then." Rebecca scowled at the Exec in mock anger, and Hughes mimed terror.
"Please, forgive me captain!" She wailed in badly overacted fear.
"This time." Rebecca warned. "But the next time?" She mimed cutting a throat, "no mercy, you slacker." The bridge crew laughed at the play. "Am I paying you to watch us?" She asked rhetorically. "I'll be down in my office, then in Cargo 2. Try not to run into anything while I'm away."
"Yes, skipper."
Rebecca stopped in her cabin to pick up a chip folder, rubbed Irene's ears, then walked back out. She arrived as the sirens wailed as Cargo 2 opened to space. She waited patiently until the sirens again reported that the compartment had been aired back up, then walked out into it. The pinnace ramp dropped, and the flight crew began to unload the miniscule cargo.
Cathcart was there, having been informed that it was arriving. He scowled at the requisition form, then thrust it back at the rating. "Send it back."
"Problems, Mr. Cathcart?"
"Yes, captain. Someone did an end run around me and ordered this... filth. I'm just refusing to sign for it."
She held out her hand, and the rating passed the pad to her. She read it, then signed. "Contact Mr. Dollaryde, and tell him his stores have arrived. Mister Cathcart, a word please." She turned, striding toward an area where there would be no one listening in.
"Ma'am we can't have junior enlisted men ordering supplies for an illicit brewery! It's against regulations!"
Rebecca turned, hands clasped behind her back. "Let us set the record straight, lieutenant. First, aboard this ship, I determine what is and is not illicit. Since the term implies both illegal and hidden, it surprises me to know that every senior officer aboard this ship knows about this brewery, where it is, and it operates with the express permission of the one officer aboard who can give him permission. That would be me. That is why the Bosun, at my behest, did the 'end run' you accused a junior petty officer of trying.
"Second, if you are going to invoke my name, expect me to pay attention. You tried by means both fair and foul to either misdirect or deny Mr. Dollaryde his ingredients. That ends now."
"But Captain! It's against-" He shut his mouth, suddenly thinking of exactly how she'd take that knee jerk statement.
Rebecca gave him a smile that a tiger would have worried about. "While you were wise enough not to say it, let me finish; 'against God's will'." The smile she gave him now would have had that same tiger deciding to become a vegetarian. "Were you about to violate Article 111? You are not allowed, under both the Constitution and Naval Regulations to use your own religious beliefs to interfere with the actions of any under your command." She crossed her arms. "Just for the record, Mr. Cathcart, our crew has members of seventy-five religions aboard, from my own Second Reformation Catholic with about 300 members, to about five Satanists. Since Article 111 precludes my intervention, if they decided to have a Black Sabbath aboard my ship, I would have only three restrictions:
"They would not be allowed to light a bonfire on my deck. They would not be allowed any form of live sacrifice. And last, if they wished to perform it in the nude, they would have to let the Bosun know so the cargo bay they used would not be flooded by voyeurs." She stepped forward, eyeball to eyeball at thirty centimeters distance. "So if we have this conversation again, you won't like it at all. Is that quite clear, lieutenant?"
"Yes, Ma'am."
She slapped the chip folder into his hand. "Read and obey these directions. Dismissed."