Black Dawn (18 page)

The next day, Lamont sent word for Captain Butler to lead the
White meeting. Trying to be as nonchalant as humanly possible, Butler did as he was asked. He took department reports, made a few minor
changes in staff duty schedules, made a wise crack or two and dismissed the meeting. He stared at Bon as the others left the room but
the engineer only shrugged and followed them out.

“
Butler to Lamont.”
“Lamont,” a weary voice replied.
Ken blinked in surprise. Maybe the commodore really had

been working day and night on something to sound that tired.
“I have
the report of our meeting.”
“Fine. Down load it to Asch. Lamont out.”
Now Butler was just plain angry. The Fleet Exec should be in
on anything big enough to cause all of this. Punching the com off, he
swung to his feet and headed to the officer’s quarters. Standing in
front of Coy’s door, he paused and listened for a second. Hearing nothing from inside, he pushed the buzzer.
After a few moments, Asch appeared. “Yes, Captain?”
“I need to see La…I wish to see the commodore,” he corrected
his tone and words.
“I’m sorry. My orders are that the commodore wishes not to be
disturbed at this time.”
“At this ti…!”
“Good day, Captain.
Please
try later.” Asch looked at him
meaningfully before shutting the door, but Ken was too mad to decipher it.
Butler sputtered in disbelief. Try later?? Fine. If Coy Lamont
wanted something from him, it could bloody well come and look for
him itself. He turned and stomped back to the lift tube.
Inside the quarters, Asch went to the huge desk Lamont was
sitting at, and had been sitting at more and more lately, and cleared his
throat a little to get Coy’s attention. “Sir, will you be wanting your
meal soon?”
Lamont waved him off. “No, I won’t. I had a lunch meeting,
so I won’t be needing anything.”
Asch pursed his lips, trying to decide what was his place to
say. “Sir, that was yesterday, and this is dinner not lunch.”
Lamont swung around to him at that and stood up, slamming
its hands down on the desk. “Why is everyone suddenly so interested
in every time I eat or sleep?” it demanded.
“Because we care, sir,” Asch answered very quietly.
Coy stared. It seemed to have a hard time catching its breath
for just a second. “Just leave me alone,” it said finally and went into its
sleeping quarters.
Asch stood staring at the closed door for a long while.

Ceal turned from tutoring Jimmy Dobbs on some medical
terms to see Asch standing in Sick Bay.
“Hey, Lieutenant Asch!” the young man greeted the officer.
Although Jimmy was officially assigned to Sick Bay, he occasionally helped Asch out, and the two had become good friends. They
shared a painful background of family expectations which neither had
ever really had anyone to confide in about.
“Hello, Jimmy. I need to speak with Doctor Byars.”
“Sure thing. Later, Ceal. Thanks.”
Ceal shook her head, and grinned after his enthusiasm, but lost
the grin at Asch’s expression. “What is it?”
“I would like you to visit the commodore.”
Ceal felt a flutter of fear. “Oh?”
“It doesn’t eat.”
Ceal relaxed. “Ah, yes, I know. I had the same problem with
Lamont when I came on board. It really doesn’t need as much …”
“No, you don’t understand. It hasn’t eaten anything in over
two days, now.”
She frowned. “Anything? As in literally anything?”
Asch nodded. “Not a drop of water or bite of food. Privacy is
very important to the commodore, I know, and I would not intrude on
this lightly. But I am...concerned.”
“It won’t let her in, you know,” Butler’s voice interrupted from
where he stood leaning against the doorway. He came into Sick Bay
and glared a little at Asch. “I’ve tried.”
The steward thought for a moment. “If I were conveniently on
another duty at that time, I believe it would answer its own messages.”
“You mean it’s been deliberately not talking to anyone,” Butler said to confirm his own guess.
Instead of answering, Asch turned back to Ceal. “Again, I request you visit and assess the situation yourself. If I am out of line, I
will gladly take whatever chastisement the commodore wishes to
give.”
She looked from one to the other. “Alright. You stay here. I’ll
go up and see what’s going on.”
“Stay here and do what? If the commodore asks, I will not lie.”
“Finish tutoring Jimmy. He’s probably not far away yet.”
“Very well. That will do.”
Byars left Sick Bay with Butler on her heels. “I’m going to
find out as well.”
Actually glad of the support, she nodded. Once at the cabin
door, however, she said, “Can you wait here? We really don’t know
what’s going on. It might let me know more if I’m alone. Trust me, if
I need you, I’ll let you know quick enough.”
At his unhappy nod, she pushed the buzzer. There was no answer. She pushed again. And again nothing. Taking a deep breath, she
spoke into her wrist com. “Byars to Lamont. I know you can hear me.
If you do not open your door, as Chief Medical Officer I can override
it and come in….I need to talk to you Coy.”
There were a few more moments of silence. Just as Butler was
urging her to do as she had threatened, the door slid open at a faint,
“Enter.”
She stepped in and it shut behind her. The quarters were dimly
lit. She could barely see Lamont’s outline against space as it sat at its
desk by the large portal. Slowly she walked over. Even in this light,
she could tell it looked awful. It looked more like it hadn’t eaten in a
week, rather than a day or two. Tears were streaming down its face.
“Coy, what’s wrong?” she tried to remain calm.
It opened its mouth, but it was a moment before it spoke. “I
lost.”
“You lost what?” she took out her scanner and started a cursory exam.
“The
Raven.
They came on the
Raven.”
Blood pressure, pulse….Ceal stared in horror at the readings
even as she continued to speak softly. “We didn’t lose the
Raven,
Commodore. We’re all fine.”
It focused on her for the first time. “They came on board. I failed.”
It took a ragged breath.
“Commodore, we are going to Sick Bay. And we are going right
now.”
“I can’t command…”
“I’m calling for a pallet.”
“No,” it stood up. And immediately fell into Ceal’s arms.
“Ken!!!” she screamed.

Coy Lamont lay in the bed in Sick Bay hooked up to life support.
Ken Butler stood in the door to the private cubicle, arms crossed, trying to hold his fear at bay with anger. If only Lamont had let them
know…Raeph Bon leaned on the wall for support and was running a
close second to Coy for paleness. Ceal was on the com to the
Nighthawk.

“You don’t understand, Ceal. Commodore Lamont does not want
me on the case, whatever it is.”
Ken looked over at that.
“What do you mean?” Byars demanded in disbelief.
“The commodore hired me. And that’s just about the last time it
spoke to me. I’ve called for a conference, I’ve sent memos…It won’t
see me. If I’m a terrible doctor I wish it would just say so and let me
go.”
“Rose, it’s the commodore that’s sick. Terribly sick. I don’t
have a clue what is going on. Do you understand, it’s laying here dying right in front of me! I need your help.”
There was barely a second’s delay at that. “I’m on the way.
Durand out.”
Ceal lowered her wrist and checked Lamont’s readouts again.
“Why, Coy?” she whispered. “Why did you avoid anyone who could
help?”
Lamont’s eyes fluttered open. Butler and Bon both leaned
closer at the small movement. “You can’t help,” it rasped out.
“Maybe I could have.”
Lamont gave a tiny shake of its head. “I’m not…”it took a
breath “…I’m a construct.”
“I know, a genetic.”
“You don’t know. You don’t know.” It struggled to rally its
strength. “I was never meant to be a soldier.”
“You said you were a military experiment.”
Butler and Bon looked at each other and at her. Then back at
Lamont.
Lamont nodded. “But not a soldier. A spy.” Another raspy
breath. “Confusing gender, bland features, perfect memory. The perfect spy.” Its eyes seemed to focus in the distance, almost as if it were
reading something far away. “The perfect spy,” it repeated, “I can’t be
interrogated. Drugs don’t work. Pain doesn’t work.” It gave a small
imitation of a laugh, “I have a subroutine that would take over if I was
tortured. Survive, escape and return with information intact. That was
what I was made for.” It shut its eyes again. “ I never understood… I
was never supposed to command….I was never supposed to fail. They
couldn’t afford that.”
“Who couldn’t afford that?” Ceal asked desperately. “What is
happening?”
But Coy didn’t answer. Its thoughts seemed to wander. “I
wasn’t supposed to care. Spies can’t afford that either.”
A monitor bleeped and Ceal jerked to look at it. “No…”
It opened its eyes, but didn’t look at anything. Its voice was a
whisper. “I commanded. I cared. I failed.”
“Coy, what’s happening?” she asked again unwilling to believe what everything was telling her.
“What do you do with a weapon that’s no longer useful?” Its
eyes shut and did not open. “Self…” the words were barely audible
“… destruct.” Coy gasped. Another monitor beeped. And then
changed to a steady tone.
“No!” she and Bon shouted together. Ceal’s hands raced madly over buttons and switches. Bon’s beat in frustration on the wall.
After a few minutes, the monitor stopped the shrill tone and
went back to beeping rhythmically.
Butler swallowed.
Ceal shook her head. “I’ve got it on full life support. Its body
will stay alive until I can…” she couldn’t finish.
Butler stared at her and then down at Lamont’s still features.
“Damn.”
Bon shook himself, and inhaled. Then he turned away from the
bed and faced Butler. “Orders, sir?”

Captain Butler sat at the desk in his quarters going over the
crew roster for the hundredth time. Sixty-nine people. No, he corrected himself sternly, seventy people. But either way, he couldn’t figure
a way for that amount to run the fleet appropriately. Commodore Lamont had been so sure it could be done. He wished for the millionth
time it had left a few more notes or something indicating how exactly
he was expected to do it.

The door buzzed, interrupting his thoughts.
“Enter.”
Raeph Bon came in holding a data disk. “Captain, I’ve got all
the information for the remodeling here. I’m afraid I was right. Only
nine fighters will fit on the
Raven
and still leave room for the
BlackBird
and the shuttles. Now we have to decide whether the other four
go on the
Rook
or the
Nighthawk
.”
“According to what few notes the Skipper left”, Ken gave a
mock grimace, “I’m pretty sure it was thinking the
Rook
. It seemed to
want to use the
Nighthawk
for ground troops.”
Bon nodded. “That’s what I thought as well. Also, Asch wants
to know if you are going to contact for the Favor or if he is.”

Butler sighed.
“I suppose I should.” He nodded at the small
disk in Bon’s hand, no bigger than a coin. “Does that have all the contact information as well?”

“
Everything you need from start to finish.” He put it on the
desk.
Butler glanced at the roster and then at the time readout on his
wristcom. “Palo’s holding down the pilot’s chair on the bridge now.
He can head us toward the transit point. By the time we’re close Hoffman will be on duty.”
“Aye, sir.”
Butler looked at Bon closely. He seemed a little more rested
than he had. And not quite so pale. But still very formal and serious.
“Raeph, we have had a pretty good working relationship from
the beginning. I would like to keep it.”
Bon pursed his lips, before answering almost in a monotone,
“You’re my commanding officer. I’ll give you whatever you need...”
“Stop that!” Ken sputtered. “Why are you doing this? You’re
not the only one who misses the Skipper, you know. We’ve got a fleet
to run, here, and you’re my first officer for now whether you like it or
not.”
Raeph stiffened at the mention of Lamont. He said nothing for
several moments. “I know everyone misses it, Captain, but not everyone killed it.”
Butler stared at him in disbelief. “What are you talking
about?”
“You came to me with evidence of something wrong and I
blew it off completely. If I had listened and we had gotten there sooner …”
Butler leaned back in his chair. “Whoa there. Number one, I
was there. It was an automatic self-destruct sequence. Nothing anyone
did would have stopped it. And number two, it’s not dead. As long as
Ceal has the life support on, it’s technically in a coma…Give yourself
a break, Raeph. The people that ki…tried to kill Coy Lamont did it
from a lab on Riga thirty years ago.”
“That may be but...”
“No buts. I need you Raeph. Whole and operational.”
The engineer shook his head. “I don’t know, Ken. Every time
I see it lying there, I feel so helpless. It’s hard to imagine the Fleet going on as usual.”
“Maybe you should stop looking,” Ken said gently. He had
never quite understood the relationship between Bon and Lamont.
They had always been closer than he and the commodore, partially
because Bon had been the very first person to help Lamont start the
BlackFleet. But he had always gotten the feeling that there was a deeper friendship than he and Lamont would ever see. “I said we all miss
the Skipper, and we do. And I know we all miss it in a little different
way. I also know it will have our hide if we let anything happen to the
Fleet. I’m serious about needing you to lean on.”
Bon took a steadying breath and let it out. “You’re right. The
commodore hired me to do a job. I guess I’d better do it right.”
Butler smiled. “Thank you.”
Bon smiled a little as well. “Funny thing, I thought you might
be the one needing the pep talk.”
“Trust me, I will.”

Ceal glanced up from her monitoring station when she sensed
someone else in the room. She didn’t expect it to be Ben Edwards.
What was the
Nighthawk
engineer doing here? He didn’t know she
had seen him. He was looking around a little nervously as if expecting
to be thrown out. She almost spoke to him, but then decided to see
what he was going to do.

Slowly, he made his way over to the chamber where Coy Lamont lay. For a few seconds he looked everywhere but down at the
person he had come all the way here to see. When at last he did, his
breath caught a
little. He was fidgeting with a tiny object of some kind but Ceal
couldn’t see what it was without revealing herself.

“
H-hello, Skipper,” Edwards said in his soft voice. Ben had
come to the Fleet in the company of Gus Reinhart, whose servant he
had been for most of his life. Gus was now a trooper and Ben an engineer and they were working hard at forging a new, more equal friendship between them. But Edwards had never lost his quiet, polite manners or mannerisms. “I just came to say I, ah, miss…well, we never
actually got to finish that game we started. So I brought this as a kind
of reminder,” he put the object on the stand next to the chamber. It was
a chess piece. “When you wake up, maybe we can finish.” He said
nothing more. He stepped back, gave a salute, and left.

Ceal smiled and wiped moisture from her eyes
– again.
Over the following days, the ceremony was repeated again and
again as crewmembers came with well wishes. The small table grew
crowded with mementos. More than one brought a book disk, another,
a real book made out of paper no less. Someone brought music, there
were several small pictures, even one lock of hair. Ceal wasn’t sure
who had brought the string of beads or what the significance was, but it
looked old and well handled. Pieces of their lives that the commodore
had touched. Fervent hopes that it would be a part of those lives again.
Little by little the visits dropped off as people had to get back
to normal duty.
The Fleet docked at a station orbiting Triton to facilitate the
remodeling of the shuttle bays into hangers for the fighters. It took one
Favor to get the parts needed to do the actual work. Ken soon found it
was going to take another to get the workers themselves.
He hadn’t expected that. Either Lamont had left out that piece
of information, or Butler wasn’t as good at negotiating. He had holed
up with Asch and Bon for a long meeting about the issue, but neither
could come up with a better way to do the work in the time they wanted to spend.
At the moment Butler stood up on the catwalk looking down
into the bay, watching the proceedings. He felt a little funny every
time they cut into the deck or pulled down beams. He felt like Coy
Lamont was standing behind him saying, ‘Ken! What the hell are you
doing to my ship?’
But Coy was not standing anywhere. And it had wanted this
done. They
needed
this done. The Fleet needed those fighters operational. Which meant the Fleet needed seventeen more pilots and gunners. Well, first things first. It was Fleet tradition to obtain ships long
before they had the people to put on them. A little backwards to the
way the rest of the universe operated, but then that was s.o.p. for the
BlackFleet as well.
One of the things Lamont had mentioned in its notes was that
the fighters were to be called
Talons
. Ah, yes, the claws of the bird.
Appropriate.
“Aziza to Butler.”
“Butler, here. Go.”
“Sk…Captain, I have a man who wishes to speak to you.
Sounds like someone wanting to join up to me. Actually he kind of
talks like an officer of some sort.”
Butler stared at his wristcom in amazement. Already? He had
just thought about it a moment ago! If the man was a fighter pilot, Ken
mused, he just might understand some of Bon’s religious leanings.
“Have him escorted to my office.”
“
Your
office, sir?”
No, Dev, I have not taken over the Commodore’s life. Just,
temporarily, its job. “Yes, Lieutenant. You do remember where my
quarters have always been, don’t you?”
“Aye, sir. Aziza out.”
Ken pushed off the railing and made his way to D deck. Once
in his quarters he called Asch to inform him of the meeting.
“Would you like tea or coffee served, sir?” Asch asked,
switching from Acquisitions officer to steward for a moment.
“No tea,” Ken assured him. “It’s not my…style. Coffee would
be okay, I guess.”
“Very good, sir,” Ashe said approvingly.
Well, at least Butler wouldn’t have to worry about accidentally
over stepping the line and intruding into Coy Lamont’s territory. It
looked like the entire crew was out to make sure that didn’t happen.
The man who came to the office did indeed have officer written all over him. He turned down the coffee and stood stiff as a rod
before the desk. Frankly, Ken was a little intimidated by him.
“Major Gary Michaels, Retired, sir!” he barked out.
Okay, now he was a lot intimidated. “Well, Major Gary
Michaels, Retired, I’m Captain Ken Butler, in temporary command of
the BlackFleet Mercenaries. What can I do for you?”
“Sir, this station is well known for its expertise in maintaining
small fighter craft.”
“Yes, I am aware of that. That is why we came here to get our
work done.”
“Therefore it is only logical that people with interest in that area…collect here.”
“I see.” At least he was finally getting closer to answering the
question. “And may I assume you to be one of those people?”
“Yes, sir. Thirty five years in the service of the Cortiri government training pilots.”
Oh, Bon, I think I need to talk to you… “May I ask why you
are no longer in the service of the etc, etc.?”
Michaels nearly succeeded in tamping out the anger on his
face before answering. “I reached retirement age,” he said simply.
A little too simple to let him get away with. “And retirement is
always mandatory at a certain age?”
“Not, necessarily. There have been exceptions to the rule over
the years.”
“But not in your case.”
“No, sir.”
“Why?”
Michaels actually paused before speaking this time. “The reasons are somewhat personal, Captain.”
“They are also somewhat necessary to obtaining a position
with this Fleet, Major.”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“It’s just the way we do things here. Your training and background could be a great asset to us, that’s true. But we hire people
based on character. It’s much more important in the long run. Everyone in the Fleet has told the Commodore or myself his or her Story of
why they need to be with us. It goes no further than this room.”
“
Need
to be with you?”
“Yes, Major. You could find a spot with a half a dozen merc
outfits that use fighters that I know of. If all you want to do is fly
around space. But if you want to fly around space and make a difference in the lives of the people around you…then you need to be in the
BlackFleet. Heroes need only apply.”
Gary Michaels looked at him like he was crazy for several
minutes. He didn’t say a word. But he also didn’t leave. Butler just
relaxed in his chair and waited for one or the other to happen.
“My request for extended service was not accepted due to the
administration’s belief that I was undermining the authority of the government,” he finally said.
Oh. Terrific. “All by yourself? How did they think you would
do that?”
“By encouraging the individuals belief in their own …power…
their own ability
as
an individual to…” he paused, groping for the right
wording.
“Make a difference?” Butler suggested.
Michaels looked thoughtful at that. Again he stood without
speaking for several minutes. “And here a moment ago I thought you
were a bunch of quacks or zealots or something,” he finally said.
“We are,” Ken agreed cheerfully. “Want to be one with us?”
Michaels actually
almost
smiled. “Yes, sir. I believe I would at
that.”
Captain Butler stood and put out his hand. “Welcome aboard,
Trainee Michaels.”

Michaels was less than thrilled with the
“Trainee” status, even
though it was the shortest training period in the history of the Fleet.
Due mainly to his ability to hand Butler an additional five pilots and
two gunners. And also because Schiff agreed with Ken that it would
be too awkward for the Major to be in something Walter called “boot
camp” along with the very people he was hired to train and lead. What
he didn’t agree with was accepting all eight of the offered recruits. It
seemed a little easy – even for the BlackFleet.

Major Michaels could not in fact speak for their piloting ability. But he had talked to them more than a few times while they were
waiting around the shipyards for a break.

“
You want me to hire people you found in a bar?” Butler
asked. Of course the only person who would get the irony was lying in
Sick Bay. In the end, despite Schiff’s disapproval and Bon’s skepticism, he hired them all. When it came time to, he added the names to
the crew list.

Seventy-eight people. His thoughts traveled back to a couple
of meetings many months before. ‘I don’t want a fleet as you mean,’
Coy had said, ‘I don’t want tons of people tripping over themselves.’
They had argued long and often about that. Lamont had insisted time
and again that the BlackFleet would be no more than the original 20.
One ship and 20 people to right all the wrongs in the universe.

Now it was four ships and 78 people. And, hopefully, still
growing. Ken had to admit he felt a little guilty about the numbers.
About winning. He would gladly go back to losing if it meant Coy
Lamont was still in command.

But Butler hadn’t hired all of these. Only the last few. Coy itself had upped the number of ships and crew little by little over the
months. Ken had only gloated at each step, and had never considered
what each change had cost Coy.

‘I was never
supposed to command…I was never supposed to
care…’
Coy Lamont had been programmed pure and simple. The implications struck Ken suddenly. He didn’t really understand how one
did things like that to a human being – and was quite sure he didn’t
want to
know. But whether he understood it or not, Coy had lived every minute of the BlackFleet painfully breaking all of its internal rules—for
months and months. And all he had done was complain.
Of course he had to admit, there was no way to support something that he didn’t even know was happening. He wondered if Bon or
Ceal had had any more idea than he what Lamont had been going
through.
As if reading his thoughts, Ceal Byars buzzed to gain entrance.
She flopped tiredly down in a chair in front of the desk and gratefully
accepted his offer of coffee. But she only drank about half of it, then
sat looking down into the cup. “I’m surprised you haven’t joined the
rest of the crew and drink nothing but tea.”
He frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
“Everyone I know has switched to tea. I guess it’s some sort of
tribute to the commodore.”
“Huh,” Ken leaned back, as usual, this time propping his feet
up on the desk. “I don’t think anyone wants me emulating the commodore too closely right now.”
She nodded agreement. “They’re all taking this real hard. It
w…isn’t only a C.O.. Coy is the symbol of a whole new life for almost everyone in the Fleet. I told Coy once that it was our commander
and not to act like our parent. But that’s how everyone feels, I think.”
She scooted up on the edge of her chair to lean on the desk. “And
that’s kind of what I came to talk about. I don’t know who or what
Coy Lamont will be like when it wakes up.”
“What do you mean?”
“You heard what it said about a subroutine?” Ken nodded. “I
think it meant another personality. As a spy that would make sense. A
different personality would not know what Coy did. It couldn’t give
away any secrets even if it wanted to.”
“And you think when it comes to, this other personality will be
in place?”
She gave a small shrug. “If it was supposed to come on line
due to extreme duress, it would make sense. Dying would qualify as
duress, I think.”
Ken thought for a long time, trying to pretend he didn’t understand what she meant. “You’re saying that even if Coy woke up today
or tomorrow, it may never command the BlackFleet again,” he said
much more casually than he felt.
“I’m saying it’s very possible.”
“And there’s no way to know?”
Ceal looked back down into the coffee cup and sighed. She
sighed a lot lately, Ken noted.
“A long time ago, Coy gave me a file with some of its physical
modifications. That plus what it said to us is all I know. And the only
way to learn more, that I can think of, is to go to Riga and ask.”
Ken’s feet hit the floor as he sat up abruptly. “Go to Riga? Nobody just
goes
to Riga – unless you’re a customer.”
“I know that, too. But it’s the only place that would have any
information.”
Ken thought of something else. “What if ….” He had to word
this right. “What if it would rather stay dead than deal with Riga?”
She nodded again. “I had thought about that. I tried to think
how I would feel. I’ve been running from my home for quite a while
now. I’m not sure even death would be drastic enough for me to want
to contact them.” She looked up. “But to be perfectly honest, I don’t
want to think about it from Coy’s point of view. I want it back.”
“Have you talked to Raeph about any of this, yet?”
“No. He’s been pretty shook up. He seems to feel responsible
somehow.”
“Still? I thought we had been through that. But anyway, he
and the Skipper used to talk, didn’t they? Maybe he would have a better idea of what it would want us to do.”
There was that sigh again. “Ken, I think we both know what it
would want.”
“To stay dead.”
“I think it has tried before, remember? The card game?”
“Yeah, but that was before the Fleet. Before it had something
to live for.”
“Caring about the BlackFleet is literally what shut it down.”
Ken sputtered in frustration. He hated it when he had no ammunition for a debate. Or did he? “So what if it woke up without the
programming? We can’t deny it the only chance it will ever have to
live life without all the crap in its head running things. Besides, this is
a mercenary fleet. It will have countless opportunities to die. But this
may be its only chance to live.”
She smiled. “Thanks for talking yourself into letting me go.
You saved me a lot of trouble.”
He blinked and stared at her for a minute. Then he smiled
back. “Point goes to Byars. Now the only problem is time. I assume
you don’t want to wait too long. And the
Raven
is going to be tied up
for a while with all the reconstruction and training the pilots.”
“What if we transfer Coy to the
Nighthawk
and take it? The
whole Fleet can’t stay stuck here doing nothing for much longer. People are already starting to snap at each other. We’re too used to saving
worlds. We need to be busy.”
“That’s a possibility. Let me think on it. We’ll discuss it at tomorrow’s White meeting.”
“Alright.” She stood up. “Thank you, Captain.”
* * * * *